


In Vino Salacitas

by HelenaHandbasket



Category: Hercules: The Legendary Journeys
Genre: Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-05-02
Updated: 2002-05-02
Packaged: 2017-10-09 17:06:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 52,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/89696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HelenaHandbasket/pseuds/HelenaHandbasket
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While helping Salmoneus with a new project, Hercules and Iolaus encounter mysterious happenings in the town of Ganymede.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Vino Salacitas

In Vino Salacitas

 

"I always knew it would come to this." Careful to keep his back to the safety of the heavy stone wall, Hercules cautiously raised a hand to his face and flicked away the trickle of blood emerging from the corner of his mouth. He narrowed his eyes, cold with controlled fury, and scanned the area for any slight motion that would betray the location of his opponent. The only source of light was a large flickering torch braced to the wall directly above his head. A few paces away, the pool of light cast upon the dusty floorboards lost its battle for supremacy with the shadows and, with unnatural abruptness, the room was thrown into darkness. Somewhere within that darkness lurked the enemy. Hercules raised his voice, although he knew perfectly well that his first statement had been heard. "I always knew you would betray me."

A caustic laugh spat out its response. "Of course you knew. You're the great Hercules. You're never wrong."

Hercules did not deign to respond to this remark but advanced slowly towards the source of the voice, wary of the slightest sound that might indicate movement or attack. His alertness was met with utter silence until he felt a rush of air above his head and heard a faint double thud, barely audible, against the floor behind him. He whirled around but saw no one until he glanced at his feet in time to glimpse a tangle of golden curls before his legs were swept out from under him. Quickly recovering from his surprise at the attack, Hercules relaxed his body as he fell backwards, pulling in his legs and rolling deftly over his left shoulder to his feet. It was not typically a move that a man of his stature could pull off gracefully but he managed to execute the recovery with cat-like poise and agility. Now he was the one enshrouded in darkness and the reds and oranges of the torch flame illuminated the smaller frame of his opponent, whose steely gaze fixed upon him, penetrating the shadows without effort.

"You want me, Herc, come and get me." His tone was playful and dangerous, almost as dangerous as his smile. His vest was torn and beneath it his ribcage was already starting to exhibit some bruising from a previous glancing blow.

Hercules did not want to play this game. "Iolaus..."

But the sound of his own name only seemed to anger the warrior further. "You're only fooling yourself, Hercules," he hissed, "and I have to tell you it's pretty pathetic. Because you know and I know what really happened, don't we? This is all *your* fault and you know it. YOU are the one that betrayed ME."

"That's it," growled Hercules under his breath, exhaling through his nose sharply, like a bull. From the shadows he glared at his partner and lifelong friend, who bounced tauntingly from foot to foot, beckoning him into the fray. The demigod clenched his fists, trembling as he struggled to control his anger.

Iolaus twisted the knife. "Well what are you waiting for? You already betrayed our partnership. Why don't you just come here and kill me. Finish the job." His eyes flashed with challenge and the bitterness of his words seemed to drip from his mouth like bile. Under the light of the flickering torch his whole being appeared to be alive with flame.

With a sudden, thunderous roar of fury Hercules charged, slamming his partner into the stone wall. Iolaus sputtered, the impact having stolen his breath away, but he maintained composure, bracing his forearms against Hercules' collarbone to provide a more easily maneuvered spacer between demigod and wall. He swung his lower body sideways and twisted his torso, his right leg lashing out whip-like to hook over the larger man's far shoulder. Deftly, Iolaus pulled himself up, strong thighs encircling his opponent's throat. Had he been fighting a mortal, a swift neck break from this position would end the battle quickly and neatly. But with Hercules, nothing was ever that easy.

This point was demonstrated a heartbeat later when Hercules managed to slam him against the wall a second time. The significantly higher altitude of this impact worked to Iolaus' disadvantage as a sharp iron corner of the torch brace grazed his scalp, opening a long, albeit shallow, wound. Iolaus hissed, startled by the unexpected laceration and loosened his grip on the demigod's throat.

Naturally, Hercules capitalized on this lapse and Iolaus soon found himself held immobile above his partner's head. The massive arms were locked into place and the strong grip of the hands were well placed, thumbs pushing into critical pressure points in Iolaus' neck and thigh. Nevertheless, the blond warrior scoffed. "What are you going to do now, 'friend?' Break my back? Throw me over a cliff? Well whatever it is, just get it over with. I've got a couple of hot dates lined up in Elysium."

Hercules wavered, looking grimly out into the shadows but never loosening his grip on his captive. As if only now becoming cognizant of the situation, his mind raced. Damn. He'd won the fight. Now what in Tartarus was he supposed to do? Above his head, Iolaus stopped struggling and his body tensed.

"I told you to do it, Hercules," he hissed. "I *want* you to do it. Finish what you started and do it. DO IT!"

Glancing uncertainly from side to side, Hercules racked his brain for the solution. He was utterly baffled and Iolaus' vociferous insistence was not helping him to think clearly. He took a deep, calming breath and came to grips with the fact that he had only one option. He would have to do the one thing he had promised himself he would never, ever, EVER do. With a shallow sigh, he closed his eyes and said, "Line."

From somewhere in the black-shrouded distance an aggravated voice whispered, "Now you will pay for your impudence."

Hercules frowned and cleared his throat. "Now you will pay for... you're kidding, right?" He took a few incredulous steps forward, almost dropping Iolaus in the process.

"Hey!" Iolaus protested, grasping at his partner's forearm to maintain his balance. "Watch it!"

"Sorry," he muttered, looking up at Iolaus guiltily and lowering him to rest more stably across his shoulders. From the darkness beyond there was the unmistakable clomping of impractical shoes against wooden floorboards and Hercules sighed, hooking his elbows over Iolaus' ribcage and thighs like a yoke. Iolaus rolled his eyes and tried to get comfortable.

The footsteps grew quieter momentarily and then emerged several paces away to the left. There was an audible rustling of robes and the sound of muted swearing as levers were pushed and pulled. Suddenly, a semicircle of flames leapt up in front of them, illuminating the stage, the gallery, and, in the wings, a very irritated looking Salmoneus.

"Now you've done it," muttered Iolaus petulantly.

Salmoneus gathered his robes and marched up to them with no little huffiness. "What did you just say?" he demanded of Hercules.

"I said, 'you've got to be joking,'" came the flat reply.

As this remark was met only with annoyed, expectant silence Hercules endeavored to be more specific. "About the line?"

Salmoneus blinked skeptically. Iolaus rolled his eyes and began drumming his fingers impatiently on the top of his partner's head.

Hercules sighed. "Look, Sal, no offense but it's just that nobody actually says things like, 'Now you will pay for your impudence.'"

"Ares does," prompted Iolaus helpfully.

"Well I'm not playing Ares, am I?" Hercules grumbled, glaring up at his bemused partner.

"No," affirmed Salmoneus, speaking in a slow, deliberate tone. "You are *not* playing Ares. You are playing 'Nemecles,' the fictional, heroic demigod. And it might be nice if, for once, you two could remember to call each other by your character names. You're fine up until the big fight scene and then everything falls apart. I'm talking to you too here, 'Nolus.'"

Disinterested in the lecture, Iolaus leaned forward to pluck a small piece of sawdust out of Hercules' hair and continued with his finger drumming. Hercules, starting to get tired from hefting his deceptively heavy payload, leaned sulkily against the wall.

"And speaking of things falling apart," Sal continued, eying the wall with concern, "all that silly, macho wall slamming has got to go."

Iolaus looked up, wounded. "I like the wall slamming."

The right side of his mouth curling into a smile, Hercules chuckled. "Yeah. I like it too. It stays."

"No way."

"But we're the fight choreographers," Iolaus protested. "And what we say goes." Finally fed up with being draped across his partner's shoulders like a stole, he swatted at the arm across his legs and, pushing off against Hercules' shoulder, leapt to the ground with an unassuming flip.

Startled, Salmoneus jumped back as Iolaus landed next to him but otherwise his position remained firm. "First of all, you're only the choreographers because you wouldn't stop bitching about the perfectly acceptable fight-scene I had already blocked out for you..."

"Sal, I told you," Hercules interrupted wearily, "I am *not* going to try and spin Iolaus around on the tip of my finger."

"And furthermore," added Iolaus, continuing the thought, "the sheer act of running in circles around Hercules is not typically sufficient to disorient him... Unless this is a farce. Is this a farce?"

"No it isn't a farce!" Salmoneus snapped. "It's a drama. Haven't you read the script?"

"No."

"Oh. Well anyway the wall slamming is out regardless. What we're standing in right now is just the rehearsal space. By the time the curtain goes up there will be sets and props everywhere that are substantially less solidly built. You try any of that violent nonsense and you'll bring down the entire set, not to mention kill several of my stage hands who, incidentally, have been paid IN ADVANCE."

"Fine," snapped Hercules, surprising even himself at his own irritability. "We'll take out the wall-slamming if it's going to save lives. Anything else you want us to change? Break into a musical number mid-fight perhaps?"

The sarcasm utterly lost on him, Salmoneus raised his eyebrows thoughtfully. "You know, that just might..."

"No!" The response was emphatic and in stereo.

Salmoneus jumped back in surprise. "Okay, okay," he panted, pressing one palm to his chest and holding the other up to the warriors defensively. "No songs. Although I hear you're quite a good dancer..."

"Forget it," said Hercules firmly, throwing a quick elbow at his partner, who was making no effort whatsoever to contain his snickering.

"Ow!" Iolaus griped, glaring up at the demigod and rubbing his shoulder tenderly.

"And that's another thing," said Salmoneus, sighing with the tired patience of an overworked schoolteacher. "Could you two try not to break each other before opening night?" He brushed his thumb along the side of his mouth and looked pointedly at Hercules who, suddenly self-conscious, rubbed hurriedly at the dried blood on his face. Turning his attention to Iolaus, Sal's gaze shifted from the bruised rib to the reddening shoulder to the small mat of blood in his hair. With a pained expression he simply shrugged and flipped his hands at him hopelessly. "Some people just come to these things for the eye-candy, you know."

Iolaus chuckled at this until it occurred to him that he'd just been insulted but carried on chuckling when it occurred to him that he didn't care.

"And while we're at it," Salmoneus continued, "Hercules, you really need to work on your stage positioning. You turned your back to the audience at least a dozen times in that scene. And you kept upstaging Iolaus. There were a couple of times when you eclipsed him entirely. It is particularly vital for a man of your... girth to pay close attention to this kind of thing."

Laughing loudly, Iolaus clapped his partner on the shoulder. "Hey, buddy, I think he's calling you fat."

"And YOU, Iolaus," Salmoneus announced loudly enough to be heard over the blond's laughter, "do you think it would be possible for you to play your part... let's see. How can I put this delicately? A little less... horny?"

This time it was Hercules chuckling into his hand while Iolaus stared at Salmoneus aghast. "What do you *mean* I'm playing it too 'horny'?!"

"Just that," replied Sal earnestly. "You're delivering your lines like you want to rip off his clothes and stick your tongue down his throat."

Iolaus was horrified. Hercules could barely contain his laughter. Salmoneus, on the other hand, could simply not see what was so horrifying and/or hilarious. "Look," he continued, "all I'm trying to say is that lust is not your motivation in this scene. The desire to kill him is. And FYI those two emotions are completely different, at least for normal people."

Still affronted by the accusation, Iolaus protested. "Sal," he said, "we're *fighting*. Don't you think I know what the relevant emotions are? It's what we do."

"Listen," Salmoneus snapped, "what you two do on your own time is irrelevant to this play. As soon as you get up on that stage you become Nolus, NON-horny, NON-lusty, embittered sidekick, okay?"

Iolaus swore and stomped off to the other side of the stage. After bemusedly watching his partner's retreat, Hercules turned back to Salmoneus. "I think you're giving his acting skills too much credit."

"Oh, you're not much better, Mr. Grabby Hands," Salmoneus replied, still looking across the stage to where Iolaus was pacing back and forth muttering to himself.

"What?!"

The director looked up. "Oh please, Hercules. I mean, could you have fondled the guy's groin a few *more* times in that scene?"

While his first instinct was to defend himself against this outright insult to his self-control, Hercules decided not to bother. It's not like it would do any good. What was it about him and Iolaus and innuendo and everyone else? He pinched the bridge of his nose and grimaced, hoping to ward off the approaching headache. Why had he agreed to do this again? He took a deep breath. "Okay," he said at last in the low tones he always used just before he resorted to yelling, "Iolaus and I will rework the fight scene this evening and try to cope with our... lustiness issues. But only on one condition."

Quirking a suspicious eyebrow, Salmoneus frowned. "What's that?"

"You fix the impudence line."

Salmoneus issued an affronted gasp. "But it's perfect! I toiled for days over the exact phrasing of that line."

Hercules shrugged. "I just can't say the line," he said frankly.

"Well the first step is to remember the line," Iolaus scoffed. He had finished ranting to himself and sidled up to stand next to Hercules just as the discussion broke out.

Hercules shot his partner a warning glance. "You're not helping," he stated, although his irritation did not prevent him from leaning casually on Iolaus' shoulder.

Salmoneus sighed. "Okay, okay. I'll see what I can do with the line. I just don't want this scene to lose any of its edge."

Waving off Iolaus' dubious look, Hercules continued. "And while we're at it, can we lose the 'roar of fury?' I feel like an idiot."

Iolaus laughed unabashedly at this. "You should see how you *look*."

The broad salesman's smile that lay permanently plastered across Salmoneus' face began to waver and the distinct sound of grinding teeth echoed across the vacant theater walls. After a moment's pause he said calmly, "Let's just call it a night, shall we? We can start fresh on this nightmare of a scene first thing tomorrow morning." Without waiting for a response he turned and shuffled off the stage, muttering something about actors and professionalism and a phrase that sounded like "rutting yaks" under his breath.

"It's about time. I thought he'd never let us out of here." Iolaus breathed a sigh of relief when the clomp of Salmoneus' footsteps finally died away and he ran his hands through his hair tiredly. "Who knew acting was so time consuming?"

"And exhausting," Hercules added, almost keeling over when Iolaus walked off without warning, depriving him suddenly of his armrest.

"And annoying." Iolaus hopped down from the stage, catching sight of the ridiculous feathered turban Sal had attempted to make him wear and gave it a good, swift kick. When Hercules joined him on the gallery floor he looked up with a smile. "Well, we're free for the evening, at least," he said, amiably grabbing his partner's arm and leading him past the rows of benches to the rear exit. "Come on, Nemecles. If you're a good fictional demigod I'll let you buy me a drink."

 

*  
*  
*

 

When Hercules and Iolaus emerged from the theater, much to their surprise, it was still light out and the streets were teeming with people. The little town of Ganymede, founded and patronized by the immortal who shared its name, had in recent years gained renown throughout Greece as the gathering place of the beautiful people. The population typically quadrupled in size during the warm summer months, with countless more vacationers streaming in for the week-long dramatic festival in which the demigod and his partner had, rather reluctantly, been induced to participate. Having arrived late the previous evening only to be whisked away by Salmoneus in the wee hours of the morning and imprisoned in a musty theater, Hercules and Iolaus were only now seeing the first evidence that the town might live up to its reputation. Remarkably, they were not disappointed.

Despite the sundry unpleasantries associated with having to take orders from Salmoneus, they could hardly complain of the location. Ganymede was all they had been promised and more. The town was nestled at the southern tail of the mountains in a cradle of high cliffs flecked with mica and pyrite and golden quartz that shone blindingly, particularly when the sun was low on the horizon. The cliffs, as they sloped seaward, petered out into a pair of rocky archipelagos that curved back into each other gracefully to form a protective loop around the glassy lagoon that lapped at the village shores. It was often noted that when scrutinized from offshore the rocky ridge surrounding the town resembled the tipped brim of a wine goblet. Naturally this was why Ganymede, who had earned fame and immortality as Zeus' most beloved wine-bearer, came to select this particular spot for his own personally engineered haven in the mortal realm.

Iolaus smiled as he stepped out onto the bustling avenue, grinning at the many appreciative glances he received from the passers-by and doling out one or two in return. He breathed deeply, relishing the scent of the ocean air mixed with the sweet fragrance of wine and olives. The town even *smelled* like paradise.

 

By some miracle, Salmoneus had obtained the use of one of the choicest theaters in town. It was located on the lagoonward side of the central avenue, a broad thoroughfare lined principally with outdoor taverns and the most expensive inns. Paved with sparkling cliff stones, Zeus Way, as it was called, ran from the base of the wide steps that led up to Ganymede's own cliffside palace down to the beach, beneath the boundaries of low tide. The ease of this unusual topological transition lent the town an air of casualness which coupled with an enthusiastic hedonism that would put Dionysus to shame. This unique combination of attributes made Ganymede the trendiest vacation spot in Greece, enticing the famous, the rich and the beautiful from throughout the continent to gather for a self-indulgent exchange of assets.

 

Iolaus approved of the location of their theater because it afforded him the opportunity for extensive people-watching as they made their way back to their inn. He and Hercules, naturally, were not staying on Zeus Way. Salmoneus was paying for their room. As such they found themselves housed at the Gryphon's Head, a small but pleasant out-of-the-way type establishment located on the periphery of town, a short hike up the western cliff. The inn was not dingy or run-down by any means but it was certainly among the least expensive and therefore least luxurious accommodations in Ganymede. Their room was pleasant enough, cozy but comfortable with a small balcony overlooking the town, but Iolaus found he would have preferred a more central location from which he could better appreciate the beauties of Ganymede and, in particular, its visitors first hand. He was, however, more than content to smile his brightest and tip his head at the many attractive tourists, scantily clad even for the summer heat, that eagerly smiled and tipped their heads at him as he and Hercules sallied towards their lower-profile destination.

 

Hercules hated the location of their theater because its notoriety suggested that a large number of people would actually be foolish enough to attend their play which, in all honesty, was going to stink worse than a Ghidra's innards. While, like his partner, Hercules could appreciate the simple pleasures of taking in the sights and sounds, particularly the sights, of Zeus Way, he couldn't help but look forward to turning onto the smaller, more sparsely populated side streets that led to their inn. The roads that meandered off of the main avenue were principally residential and were lined with spectacular olive trees that were considered common property and cared for by the community as a whole. A far cry from the cramped, twisting back-alleys of most mainland villages, these roads seemed an oasis from the formidable bustle of the theater district and adjoining market.

 

The pair took their time as they strolled the avenue, feeling as if they had somehow earned a few extra hours of worry-free living that they had not originally been allotted to them. They had been rehearsing with Salmoneus since sunrise and although the intervening hours had seemed an eternity they had actually managed to aggravate their way to freedom in the late afternoon. Iolaus, for one, was not about to waste such a delightful situation. He hailed a young girl who was burdened with perhaps a dozen flagons of wine and purchased from her a sample of her wares, taking a long swig before handing it absently to Hercules as he caught the eye of a stunning Egyptian woman and her beau, both of whom were regarding him keenly. He raised his eyebrows at the woman and winked at the man before reaching back to snatch the flagon from Hercules just as the demigod was bringing it to his lips. Iolaus took a quick swig and returned it to his partner, who availed himself of two hasty gulps, anxious to enjoy the beverage before it was unexpectedly confiscated again.

 

"You know, Herc," Iolaus mused, finally tearing his eyes away from the scenery and facing his partner, "I've been wondering: what exactly does Salmoneus have on you that he's able to get you to agree to this kind of crap."

 

Mid-swig, Hercules raised his eyebrows and looked down at his companion. "What do you mean?" he asked, swallowing peremptorily. "Sal has nothing on *you*, and *you're* here."

 

Iolaus shrugged. "Well I really wanted to see Ganymede," he said, "but I know you're no big fan of this town - or the guy, for that matter - so what's your excuse?"

 

"What do you mean?" Eying the shorter man suspiciously, Hercules took another long drink of wine.

 

"Well, let's put it this way," Iolaus chuckled, stealing a quick swig without bothering to pry the flagon from his partner's vice-like grip, "a few years back I let you go gallivanting around Greece without me for a couple of weeks. In that time you somehow managed to lose my favorite sword, sleep with the woman who schemed to make us murder each other, and get yourself wrapped around Salmoneus' little finger. Now the first two I can understand - swords get lost sometimes and Xena's... well, Xena - but I'd really like to know exactly what stupid or embarrassing thing you did in order for that latter state of affairs to come about."

 

Hercules smirked, the wine working its way into his system and relaxing him after an extremely stressful day. "Just be glad we get to keep our clothes on this time. The *last* time Sal involved me in one of his art projects I wound up wearing nothing but a bunch of grapes."

 

Iolaus stopped short, causing the two Cretan nobles that had been strolling a few steps behind to crash into him gracelessly. They didn't seem to mind, as one patted him amiably on the backside whilst the other carefully tucked a room key down the front of his pants before strolling off as if nothing had happened. Rolling his eyes, Iolaus retrieved the room key and with a flirtatious wink tossed it to an overly made-up middle-aged woman who was soliciting passers-by unilaterally from a nearby tavern table. He trotted to catch up to Hercules, who was pretending that he hadn't been closely following the series of events with marked bemusement.

 

"Stark naked, eh?" Iolaus clucked. "Whatever he has on you it must be worse than I thought. Now do you see why I don't let you travel by yourself anymore?"

 

Hercules laughed. "And I thank you for that. You know, I... hey!" He jumped forward in surprise and looked at his partner accusingly. "No goosing!" When Iolaus raised his hands defensively as a sign of innocence, Hercules shot a look over his right shoulder to find the perpetrator - a petite but well put-together young woman clad head to toe in Corinthian leather. She winked at him, a wicked sultriness in her smile. He looked uncertainly over at Iolaus, who had taken advantage of his distraction to snatch the wine back and was chuckling to himself as he drank. Curling his left arm casually but decisively over his partner's shoulder, Hercules turned back to face the girl, who peered up at him hopefully. "Sorry," he offered with a pathetically insincere smile, "I'm taken."

 

The girl pouted in disappointment and Iolaus looked back at her and then up at Hercules. "Oh sure," he griped. "You're ruining *my* chances, now."

 

"Iolaus," said Hercules, not altogether sure whether his friend's comment was serious, "there is *not* enough room for three people in that tiny bed at the inn and there is no way I'm sleeping on a tavern bench again. Not after what happened the last time."

 

"Oh, I don't know," Iolaus mused, smiling at the delightful memory to which his companion had alluded. "She's not that big... Hey, maybe Sal is right - if you'd just lose a little weight there'd be room for all of us, you know." He winked and handed Hercules the flagon.

 

"Ha, ha." Hercules rolled his eyes and tipped back the container, finishing the last swallow and then exchanging it for a fresh one with one of the many nearby ambulatory merchants. "Say, speaking of Salmoneus... Did you happen to think that some of his comments today were... well, kind of odd?"

 

Iolaus was busy staring at a dark-skinned soldier with a shaved head who was staring right back at him with smoldering eyes. He shrugged distractedly. "I think all of Salmoneus' comments are odd." He reached back, fishing blindly for the wine with one hand without taking his eyes off of the soldier. Hercules obligingly handed him the flask and gently gripped his far shoulder to navigate him around a jewelry merchant and his cart that he was about to run into.

 

"No, I mean all the innuendo in his remarks," Hercules clarified once they were clear of the merchant. "I know we get that kind of thing a lot but not usually from our friends. Not from Sal."

 

Mid-swig, Iolaus spat out his wine, exploding with laughter and then doubling over into a coughing fit. Across the avenue, the soldier Iolaus had been eying, whose table they had just drawn level with, stood up from his chair with a look of concern, curious about what had just transpired. Despite himself, Hercules glared at the good-looking man possessively as he pounded the sputtering Iolaus on the back.

 

"You god wide id by dose!" Iolaus complained. He looked back over at the soldier once he had recovered, but his would-be friend now refused to make eye-contact. "Thanks," he grumbled up at his partner, wiping the back of his hand gracelessly across his nose and issuing two more quick coughs.

 

Hercules frowned. "I want to know what was so funny about my last statement."

 

After a few more sputters, Iolaus patted Hercules condescendingly on the shoulder. "It's just that what you said about Sal and innuendo was about as far off as it could possibly be. That guy tells the dirtiest 'Hercules and Iolaus' jokes I've ever heard."

 

"You're kidding."

 

"Nope. Sorry to burst your bubble, pal."

 

Shaking his head as he took another long, long swig of wine, Hercules sighed, wincing as Iolaus waved cheerfully to a balcony full of Roman women that were hooting and whistling at them. "Okay, so Sal's a bad example," he admitted, hoping to redirect the conversation before Iolaus decided to share some of the aforementioned jokes, "but there's something strange about this place. Haven't you noticed that everyone here is... well... overly friendly?"

 

"I'll say," Iolaus replied enthusiastically, backpedaling a few steps to catch a peeled grape that one of the women had thrown down to him. The women tittered with glee when the fruit landed squarely in his mouth and he displayed it obligingly on his tongue before flipping it back into his throat and swallowing it whole.

 

Before Hercules could comment he was interrupted by the lusty yells of a band of Athenian men, perched drunkenly on yet another balcony. "Take off your shirt!" they shouted.

 

Hercules turned around irritably. "No!" he yelled back at them.

 

Much to the demigod's chagrin, the balcony erupted with laughter.

 

"Ah, Herc," Iolaus snickered, tugging gently on the shirt in question. "I think they were talking to her." He inclined his head towards their old friend in the Corinthian leather who, while yet fully clothed, was seductively beginning to loosen the ties on her bodice, urged on by encouraging shouts from the Athenians.

 

Hercules was mortified. "Let's get out of here," he muttered, pulling an only semi-willing Iolaus away from the floor show and onto a quiet, tree-lined side street. "That's better," he sighed after they had walked a few dozen paces and he could no longer feel the oppressive sensation of the lascivious crowd all around him. He decided to ignore Iolaus' irritated grunt when a wave of cheers erupted from the balconies on Zeus Way. The bodice, he surmised, was no more. After a few more paces and a swig of wine, he struck up the conversation again. "Can you at least see what I'm talking about, Iolaus? You can't deny that the level of... playfulness in this town is abnormal."

 

Quickly recovering from his disappointment at leaving Zeus Way, Iolaus reached up to pluck an olive from a nearby tree. "Sure it's unusual," he admitted, chewing the olive thoughtfully and then spitting the pit onto the ground, "but you have to remember, Hercules, this is a resort town. These people are on vacation - kind of like us only they're not lorded over by a tyrannical merchant-turned-writer/director/producer all day. They come here for the sex, the sex, the sea air, the sex, and the occasional olive. The fact that the wine is good just helps with the sex."

 

Unable to deny the validity of this statement, Hercules sighed and took another swig of wine before handing off the flask. He still couldn't shake the sense that the situation was not as simple as his partner had described, but was unable to formulate his suspicions into words. Yet.

 

As Iolaus accepted the flagon, their hands happened to make contact and suddenly Hercules' skin was alive, too-aware of the warm flesh that lay with seeming innocence against his own. Iolaus noticed this too, he could tell, because his breath hitched suddenly just as Hercules' own heartbeat began to race. They stopped walking and looked at each other, the demigod struggling desperately to bring his heart rate down to normal, somewhat embarrassed that such a mundane encounter could thrill him so profoundly and without warning. For all the years he and Iolaus had known each other - as friends, as warriors, as partners - they still occasionally had these moments of sensual simplicity that transported him back to his adolescence when everything about life was fresh and exciting. It was a facet of their friendship that Hercules cherished. But while this type of encounter was not unique, it was understandably rare. And something about this particular instance seemed unusually... intense. The demigod snapped out of his reverie and looked at his partner, who now drew the flagon away slowly, trailing his little finger along the back of Hercules' hand as he did so and allowing it to linger momentarily before, at last, the contact was broken.

 

When the moment had passed, the pair let out a collective breath and Iolaus shook himself, taking a quick, greedy swig of wine. Hercules cleared his throat and turned awkwardly back to the conversation at hand. "It's kind of like the air here is charged with something," he hoped he was making sense, but doubted it. That spark between him and Iolaus had been more than just a spark. It had been a Spark. Not that he was complaining particularly, but over the years he had learned to be paranoid. He looked down at Iolaus, brow furrowed. "It's like this entire town is brimming with displaced sexual energy. You know what I'm saying?"

 

Iolaus laughed. "You noticed that too? Good, I was worried that it was just me and I was getting overly desperate in my old age. Feels great, though, doesn't it? Just a slight tingle, like when Aphrodite shows up in a shower of sparks and they kind of buzz against your bare skin just before she turns solid... Oh, who am I kidding? I feel that tingle even after she turns solid."

 

"Yeah..." The demigod nodded absently for a moment before the comment fully sunk in. "Hey!" he protested, giving his partner a playful but decidedly ungentle shove. "That's my sister you're talking about."

 

Staggering sideways from the assault, Iolaus reached out to stop himself on a nearby tree trunk, the impact eliciting a shower of ripe olives which pelted him moistly. He looked up at Hercules with a petulant expression that asked, "Do we really have to have this discussion *again*?"

 

Hercules rolled his eyes and offered his well-practiced, "okay, fine. You're right" smile as he strolled over to his partner, bemusedly extracting a few olives from his tousled locks. While Iolaus continued to brush himself off, Hercules sucked on one of the olives absent-mindedly, holding it between his thumb and forefinger as he divested the pit of its surrounding fruit. A sharp intake of breath from several paces away caught his attention and he looked up, lips still curled luxuriantly around the olive, to find that they had an audience.

 

From the single small window of the nearest house an elderly couple peered out at him, grinning madly and elbowing each other to vie for space. The man winked and raised his eyebrows meaningfully at Iolaus who, oblivious, was busy scraping olive mush off of his boots. Next door, a solitary girl sat on her porch, watching Hercules fixedly. As he drew the half-eaten olive from his mouth, licking the juice from his lips with a quick dart of his tongue he noticed, to his mild discomfort, that her eyes widened, her nostrils flared, and her mouth fell open dumbly. He looked awkwardly at the ground.

 

"Can we *go*, please?" he petitioned Iolaus in a low voice.

 

"Keep your pants on," Iolaus replied dismissively, shaking his hair one last time for wayward olive bits. Catching sight of the plump half-eaten olive in his partner's fingers, he looked up at him skeptically. "You going to finish that?" he inquired. "Because I'll eat it if you don't want it."

 

Fighting back the overwhelming urge to proffer the olive for Iolaus to suck on, fingers and all, Hercules drew in a short breath and popped it hurriedly into his mouth, an action which drew an audible "Boo!" from the old man in the window.

 

"Suit yourself," Iolaus shrugged, shooting a strange and somewhat mystified look at the old man as he collected a few olives from the ground and dusted them off. "These will do." He threw one olive up and caught it in his mouth, nearly choking as Hercules gripped his arm and hustled him away.

 

Once they had turned the corner, Hercules threw a suspicious glance back over his shoulder and rubbed his chin pensively. "So what do you think is causing this... situation?"

 

"I wouldn't worry about it," Iolaus shrugged. "It's pretty subtle and I can't see how it's hurting anyone."

 

Hercules snorted self-righteously. "Some of those people on the balconies didn't seem all that subtle."

 

"They were drunk, Herc. That's the type of stuff that happens when libidos go up and inhibitions go down. It's not like one of those love spells where people are suddenly throwing themselves at folks they wouldn't normally look twice at. My guess is that the local merchants scraped up a big enough offering for Aphrodite to up the vibes a little bit. It's great for business, I imagine. Here, take the wine." Reluctant for a repeat of their last wine-exchange incident, at least until they got back to the inn, Iolaus tossed the flagon lightly to his partner.

 

Hercules caught the wine and took a long swig, still frowning. "I don't think they could petition Aphrodite for something like that," he muttered, as much to himself as to his companion. "This town belongs to Ganymede, which means only one deity should have influence here."

 

"Yeah. Zeus." Iolaus snorted.

 

"Yeah."

 

"Okay, so it's Zeus' spell, not 'Dite's. What does it matter?"

 

"I'm not sure." Hercules shrugged, feeling somewhat stupid and helpless about the situation, but unconvinced that he could, or even *should*, do anything about it. They had just arrived at the narrow stone steps that lead up to the entrance of the Gryphon's Head and he gestured grandly for his partner to go first.

 

Iolaus chuckled and rolled his eyes. "What a gentleman," he cooed sardonically. "You buying me dinner too, handsome?"

 

"We'll see," Hercules laughed in response, watching appreciatively as his partner took the stairs two at a time, obviously eager to tear into the evening meal. He found himself wondering whether those leather pants were new or if he just hadn't been paying enough attention recently. They certainly seemed pleasantly snug. Suddenly aware of his own licentious imaginings, Hercules smiled uncertainly. "Well," he muttered to himself as he surveyed the pants' continued progress up the steps, "things could certainly be worse."

 

*  
*  
*

 

"Where's Muriel tonight?" Iolaus asked casually as the innkeeper, Laesus, arrived at their table with plates balanced all the way up to his shoulder. He was a quiet man, on the far side of middle age with salt and pepper hair, a solid physique, and a world-weariness about him that suggested he might have once been a soldier. From what little they had seen of him so far he appeared calm, collected, and very good at his job. At Iolaus' question, however, Laesus' head jerked in surprise and he lost his balance, sending his payload plummeting to the ground. He clamped his eyes closed, bracing for the deafening crash. When the crash failed to arrive, he opened his eyes cautiously.

 

Hercules, apparently, had caught the two most expensive-looking plates, fired ceramic that Laesus had bought from a near-eastern merchant and reserved for only the most special visitors. The demigod was still carefully holding them out of danger, as if concerned that the table itself might topple over spontaneously. Iolaus, on the other hand, seemed to have caught the two dishes with the most food on them; his own plate of lamb stew and the seafood platter that his partner had ordered sat looking slightly jostled but otherwise unharmed on the table in front of him. Laesus blinked in surprise. The only casualties, it seemed, were the two tankards of ale, which had been caught for the most part by his own shirt and pants.

 

"Thanks," offered the innkeeper sheepishly, setting down the two now-empty ale tankards that he had fruitlessly managed to keep his grip on. He looked down at his soaking-wet clothes, feeling not a little mortified to present such an image to his most distinguished patrons.

 

Iolaus shrugged amiably, shoving Hercules' platter over to him and then snatching a piece of warm flatbread off of one of the ceramic plates still being held aloft. "We deserve no credit. It was a purely selfish act motivated by hunger." He grinned through a mouthful of bread before digging into his stew.

 

"You okay?" asked Hercules with concern, finally and with great delicacy setting the fragile plates on the tabletop.

 

"Yeah," laughed Laesus, smoothing down the front of his shirt to produce a wet spatter of ale on the floor. "Just a little bit soggy is all. I'll be right back with your ales."

 

The innkeeper departed, weaving deftly among the many square, wooden pillars that made the small barroom seem even smaller before disappearing into the kitchen through an inconspicuous curtain behind the bar. Hercules frowned as he watched him go. "That was odd," he remarked once he was sure the older man was out of earshot.

 

"I'll say," Iolaus chuckled. "He didn't even expect us to pay for the ale he spilled. This guy must be one of the good ones." He took another mouthful of stew and ruminated over it contentedly.

 

"No," Hercules replied, his gaze still fixed on the curtain as if by staring hard enough he could will himself to witness the activities beyond, "I mean your question about the barmaid. It really rattled him. Maybe you should ask it again."

 

Iolaus shrugged. Frankly, he had already forgotten he had asked the question in the first place. "Sure, okay," he said, "but I think I'll wait until *after* he sets our drinks down this time."

 

When Laesus returned, looking significantly more composed, not to mention drier, the two warriors regarded him closely. He set their drinks down with an unnatural smile and immediately turned to leave.

 

"So what was that you were just saying about Muriel?" Iolaus asked, bearing an expression of innocent curiosity as he peered over his ale.

 

Laesus halted mid-step and turned back towards them, his eyes darting desperately about the room. Other than Hercules and Iolaus, who occupied a booth in the corner, and a solitary man sitting at the far side of the bar the tavern was devoid of customers. Nevertheless, the innkeeper lowered his voice secretively. "Who?"

 

Hercules and Iolaus exchanged an irritated look. "Muriel," Hercules repeated. "The barmaid. She was working here this morning?"

 

"And last evening when we arrived," Iolaus added.

 

With a thin-lipped frown, Laesus shook his head slowly. "I'm sorry, but I have no idea who you're talking about."

 

Throwing down his fork in exasperation, Iolaus glared at the innkeeper, who threw a quick, concerned glance over his shoulder at the gentleman at the bar. "Look," Iolaus growled. "When we came downstairs this morning there was a girl here. A redhead. Very pretty. She made us breakfast. I *saw* you speaking to her."

 

Laesus shrugged guiltily. "Could be," he said. "I have a hard time keeping track of who's who in the staff. We have a high rate of turnover here, so it seems like there's a new barmaid or busboy or dishwasher every week."

 

"And why exactly is that?" Hercules asked suspiciously. Though his initial impression of this man had been favorable, he was beginning to like him less and less.

 

Raising his eyes from the floor, Laesus cleared his throat awkwardly. "It's just the nature of business in Ganymede," he replied, seeming moderately genuine for the first time in the conversation. "Tavern staff, especially the good-lookin' ones, don't hang around here too long. After a few weeks or so they usually move up to the higher-paid positions on Zeus." He shrugged sadly.

 

Hercules raised his eyebrows and glanced over at Iolaus who, despite his annoyance at Laesus' unresponsiveness, was stifling a laugh. The demigod looked back up at the innkeeper, who widened his eyes and blushed hotly.

 

"The street that is," Laesus corrected hurriedly, "not the... ah... Can I go now?"

 

"Not until you've answered our question about..."

 

A clamor at the tavern entrance interrupted Hercules' answer and he looked over Laesus' shoulder to see a shapely redhead scurry in and lean against the doorframe, flushed and panting for breath.

 

"... her," Hercules finished, his statement now moot.

 

Laesus had whirled around at the noise and at the sight of the girl his whole body relaxed.

 

"Sorry I'm late," she called to him as she hurriedly tied on her apron. Her dress was surprisingly formal, beaded satin in a deep, beautiful blue that was stunning in its vividness, although not particularly well suited to her complexion: certainly not the typical garb for a low-end barmaid. Nevertheless she appeared right at home, immediately drawing a mug of ale for the man at the bar, whom she noticed was running low. As she performed this task she looked up at Laesus, who was still staring at her, and offered him a faint smile. He raised his eyebrows meaningfully and she, almost imperceptibly, shook her head. The exchange was subtle but did not escape the notice of Hercules and Iolaus who, in response, undertook a brief, non-verbal exchange of their own.

 

A moment later, Laesus turned back to the table, his expression a mixture of relief, disappointment, and forced cheer. "Oh," he exclaimed, smacking himself on the forehead melodramatically. "Were you saying 'Muriel?' Because *I* thought you were saying, 'Ariel' and I sure don't know anyone by that name..." He laughed uncomfortably. "But I know Muriel, sure. That's her over there. Yep. Muriel."

 

Hercules narrowed his eyes and regarded the man skeptically while Iolaus rolled his and chuckled into his ale.

 

"Well," Laesus stammered, fervently hoping that the two men's silence indicated that his interrogation was over, "I guess I'd better be seeing to the kitchen now. Just let Muriel know if there's anything else you need." The innkeeper backed away slowly, half-expecting to be hailed back for another round of questioning, until his tailbone connected sharply with one of the high bar stools. He winced, turning to kick the stool irritably, and then ducked under the bar, taking a few moments to confer with Muriel before disappearing into the kitchen.

 

"Well that was quite a performance," grumbled Hercules once the innkeeper was out of sight. He propped his chin in his hand and regarded the kitchen door thoughtfully.

 

"I'll say," Iolaus scoffed. He had polished off all of the meaty bits in his lamb stew and now prodded at Hercules' plate with his fork, investigating the potential of its contents. "That guy's almost as bad an actor as you."

 

"Watch it," the demigod chuckled, eyes finally returning to settle on his partner. "You're not much better, you know. Hey, do you mind?" This last remark was in reference to the unsolicited appropriation of one of his shrimp by Iolaus' fork. His objection was responded to with an admissive but unapologetic shrug.

 

"You know what's funny about you, Herc?" Iolaus mused, chomping loudly on the purloined shrimp and then grimacing and spitting the firm outer casing into his hand.

 

Hercules smirked. "Amaze me."

 

The quirk in his eyebrow and the gleam in his eye clearly revealed that Iolaus' brain had registered an alternative interpretation to this challenge but he carried on with the discussion at hand regardless. "You get really paranoid when you're horny." As if to punctuate the statement, he swung his right boot up to clomp firmly against the heavy booth bench, the arch of his foot resting casually against the edge just to the outside of Hercules' left thigh.

 

Hercules was too busy having a choking fit to notice. "What?!" he demanded at last, once he had managed to finish swallowing half of the piece of squid he had been chewing on and surreptitiously spit the other half into his napkin.

 

"Sure," Iolaus grinned, tapping him amiably on the knee with his foot. "It's one of your more endearing idiosyncrasies. Like remember that time in our final year of the Academy when I got kicked out for a month and when I came back you were *convinced* that Feducius was involved in an intricate plot to assassinate Cheiron by liberating the Titans?"

 

Wincing at the memory, Hercules shook his head and chuckled. "Well it made sense at the time." He laid his hand companionably upon Iolaus' ankle, in part because he enjoyed the contact, in part because he wanted Iolaus to stop kicking him.

 

"Or that time about a month after you lost Deineira that you pounded that poor cypress tree to smithereens because you thought it was secretly Hera in disguise?"

 

"Do we really need to revisit that particular incident? After all, there *was* probable cause to..."

 

"And I don't even want to *know* what delusions you went through while I was dead for that year because..."

 

"Iolaus!" Hercules clapped his partner's excitedly shaking foot to his leg and lifted his own right foot to rest on the opposite bench, boot-toes barely brushing the inside of Iolaus' thigh. Iolaus' foot twitched in involuntary response. "Your point?"

 

"My point," Iolaus replied, overly cognizant of the strong hand that had shifted to grasp his calf and the unusually large boot that now leaned comfortably against his inner-thigh, "is that the worst part of your characteristic paranoia is that you always seem to drag me down with you."

 

"What are you talking about?" Hercules was affronted but it did not prevent him from slowly massaging Iolaus' calf muscles.

 

"It's like at the Academy when you had me so convinced that I threw a burlap sack over Feducius' head. And like just now when you had us grilling that poor innkeeper. You know, you actually had me believing that there was something going on."

 

Hercules was aghast - so much so that he released his grip on Iolaus calf. "Of *course* there was something going on," he protested. "Didn't you see the look those two exchanged?" He was so flummoxed by the accusation of paranoia that he utterly forgot to deny the fact that he was horny - not that it would have done any good: Iolaus could read him like a scroll.

 

Rolling his eyes, Iolaus clapped his hand over Hercules' ankle emphatically, digging into the tensed muscles with his thumb. "Of course there's *something* going on," he insisted, grinning when his thumb hit the spot that made Hercules' eyebrows fly up involuntarily, "but it's a normal something. Like she was out cheating on her husband, or she's wanted for theft, or she was out soliciting foreign merchants for illicit substances something. You had me convinced it was a *something* something. Like she was gone because of... oh, what was the last thing? Because she had been torn apart by secret, sinister hell-hounds something."

 

Shifting in his seat, Hercules regarded his partner skeptically but was mollified enough to resume his calf massage, lifting Iolaus' foot to rest on top of his knee and kneading the flesh with both hands. "It could still be a *something* something," he insisted with uncertain defensiveness.

 

"All I'm saying," replied Iolaus, gripping Hercules' boot and rubbing it enticingly against his leg, "is that you get paranoid when you're horny."

 

Engulfed in the dulled sensation of his toes tantalizing his partner's inner thigh, Hercules grasped for a reasonable retort. "And you get... annoying... when you're horny."

 

"And you get additionally self-righteous."

 

"And you get additionally gluttonous."

 

"And you get tense."

 

"And you get agitated."

 

"And you get flushed."

 

"And you get sweaty."

 

There was an extended pause as the two men regarded each other with passionate intensity and suspended breath. After several moments, it was Hercules who finally exhaled and broke the silence.

 

"We have to be at rehearsal early tomorrow morning," he said, reaching to brush his fingertip against the back of Iolaus' knee and down the underside of his calf.

 

"Yeah." This response was accompanied by a distinct pressure of Iolaus' thigh against Hercules' foot.

 

"And I promised Sal we'd work on our... lust issues." A gentle squeeze of the calf.

 

"Yeah." A finger dipped into a tankard of ale and gently sucked dry.

 

"So... Think we should go do that?" Eyebrow raised.

 

"Yeah." Eyebrow raised.

 

Their departure from the table was somewhat rushed, both men throwing down money hastily, almost arbitrarily, onto the table. As they approached the stairs, Hercules signaled Iolaus to pause and trotted over to the bar where Muriel was busying herself drying some glasses.

 

"Got any olives?" he asked hopefully.

 

With a friendly smile, Muriel reached into one of the shelves behind her and procured a small bowl brimming with fresh black olives. "We usually set these on the bar once things get busy," she declared, "but you're welcome to them now if you'd like."

 

"Thanks," was the demigod's only reply as he took the bowl and, hurrying to rejoin his companion, disappeared up the stairs to the private rooms above.

 

*  
*  
*

 

Awake before the rest of his body was, Iolaus' nose twitched. Eyes squeezed determinedly shut, he reached up a lazy hand to swat at whatever was tickling his face. When that did not solve the problem, he moved to turn onto his side but his way was blocked by a large, well-muscled forearm. It was at this juncture that he became cognizant of the heavy weight bearing down on his hips. He flopped back onto the down mattress. "Don't you *ever* sleep in?" He grumbled, opening his eyes cautiously.

 

As his vision gradually came into focus, Iolaus' field of view was filled with cheerful demigod leaning over him with a smug grin. "And a good morning to you," it said brightly.

 

"If you say so." Iolaus closed his eyes and stretched his head back into the pillow, rolling his neck and shoulders to work out the morning kinks. He still, however, could not move his legs. One warily opened eye revealed the demigod, unmoved from his previous position. "You still here?" Iolaus muttered. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

 

Hercules smirked and considered his partner who now glared up at him, facial features crunched up in annoyance. Iolaus: hero, legend, lover, world's worst morning person. "Because I like it," he replied.

 

"Well quit it and get off of me," Iolaus snarled back, reaching out with two half-wakeful arms to shove the demigod in the chest.

 

"As you wish." With a bemused shrug, Hercules complied.

 

"Aaah! My eyes!" Iolaus flung his arms over his face as the sunlight that was blazing through their east-facing window hit him full force. One hand still clamped firmly over his eyes, Iolaus felt around the bed to find a pillow to hurl at his partner, who was practically hysterical with laughter somewhere across the room. "You did that on purpose!"

 

Having regained his composure, Hercules was quick to defend himself. "I was just trying to help," he protested through a few lingering sniggers.

 

"No you weren't. You deliberately tricked me into grouching my way to temporary blindness."

 

"Well, that too."

 

Iolaus sighed, peeking cautiously between his fingers as his eyes adjusted to the light. "You know what, Hercules?" he said, laboriously swinging himself into a seated position from which he could stretch properly. "You are a cruel, cruel man.

 

Looking up from the washbasin where he had been splashing water on his face, Hercules chuckled. "Yeah, I get that a lot."

 

Iolaus frowned when he finally uncovered his eyes completely and caught sight of his partner. "And you're wearing pants."

 

"Now that I get less often."

 

"Maybe you should wear pants more often."

 

"Is *that* your stance on the matter now?" Hercules asked bemusedly, recalling a drunken discussion they had recently had on that very topic. "Besides, you're one to talk."

 

Iolaus looked down at his own pantsless form, shrugged, and scratched himself. "All I know," he declared, "is that when I woke up a few moments ago you were on top of me with no pants on. To any normal person, such an act would imply some kind of intent. But now you seem to have pants on. I'm just trying to work out the details, that's all. Have you been promoted to God of Mixed Messages or something?"

 

Hercules turned to face his partner, who now sat on the edge of the bed, arms folded and awaiting an immediate explanation. "Iolaus, we have to go. We're going to be late meeting Salmoneus as it is." He offered an apologetic shrug and reached for his jerkin. Spotting Iolaus' pants hanging from the mirror above the washbasin he grabbed them and tossed them onto the bed.

 

Falling back onto the mattress, Iolaus sighed. "That damn play," he muttered. After a few mumbled expletives Iolaus dutifully reached for his pants and, with no little bitterness, slipped them on. Not for the first time, he wondered whether he and Hercules had been cursed by the Fates to never have a decent vacation.

 

*  
*  
*

 

Downstairs, the tavern was as empty as it had been the previous evening. Its only apparent occupant was Muriel, who seemed lost in her own thoughts as she polished the bar.

 

"Morning," Iolaus offered cheerfully as he swung himself down the last stage of stairs and onto a bar stool. He had recovered from the morning's disappointment and was eager for breakfast.

 

"Good morning," she replied, smiling pleasantly first at Iolaus and then at Hercules as he lowered himself into the adjacent seat. "I trust you two had a pleasant evening." She smiled more broadly, a too-familiar gleam in her eye as she glanced from one man to the other.

 

Hercules smiled, unfazed. "Yes we did, thank you."

 

"Glad to hear it." She winked at Iolaus, who was more than happy to wink back. "Now what can I get you?"

 

Iolaus took a deep breath and rubbed his hands together vigorously, but Hercules interrupted before he could rattle off his lengthy order. "Something quick," he said decisively. "We're in kind of a hurry."

 

Casting a quick, irritated glance at his partner, Iolaus reassembled his warmest smile as he addressed the barmaid. "That dish you made yesterday - with the rice and the sausages. Any chance that could be made quickly enough to satisfy my impatient partner here?"

 

Muriel smiled flirtatiously. "I'll guarantee it," she said.

 

"You see?" stated Iolaus, addressing Hercules pointedly. "Some people are able to be very accommodating about sausages, even under a time constraint."

 

Hercules passed his hand over his face wearily. The vengeance was being doled out more promptly than usual. He quelled his sight blush, which was in deference to the poor quality of Iolaus' joke rather than due to any particular embarrassment of his own, and placed his order with Muriel. When she disappeared into the kitchen, he punched Iolaus lightly on the shoulder. "Nice one."

 

Iolaus did not bother to reply, nor did he look over at his partner. He just sat on his stool chuckling to himself and chewing on an olive.

 

To her credit, Muriel returned with their meals with remarkable expediency. Iolaus managed to resist any further lewd remarks but made a point to savor each chunk of sausage with particular gusto. Hercules toyed disinterestedly with a bowl of something that Iolaus could only identify as "disgusting glop," eventually giving up on it altogether when the glop won the tug-of-war battle for possession of his spoon. Resignedly, Hercules pushed the bowl away and turned his interest to the barmaid.

 

"So," he began, arresting her attention away from the careful arrangement of empty tankards along the back of the bar, "what were you up to yesterday afternoon?"

 

She stopped toying with the tankards, her body suddenly tense. "Why?" she asked warily.

 

Hercules shrugged. "Just curious," he said casually.

 

Frowning, Muriel looked from Hercules to Iolaus and back again to Hercules. "What did Laesus tell you?" she asked quietly, taking a step towards them.

 

"That he'd never heard of anyone called Ariel," said Iolaus, fork in mouth.

 

The girl blinked, her brow furrowing with understandable confusion. "I was visiting a friend," she replied dismissively, eyes dropping to the floor.

 

"You were wearing a pretty fancy dress," Iolaus noted, nodding to indicate her current, much simpler attire.

 

Muriel laughed faintly. "Well he was a pretty fancy friend." She looked up suddenly at this, eyes wide as if she had blurted out the secret of the Sphinx. Hercules quirked an eyebrow and shared a meaningful look with his partner.

 

Watching with increasing agitation as the two men exchanged indecipherable facial expressions and then looked back at her expectantly, Muriel took a deep, shaky breath and leaned in to address them secretively. "*He* sent you, didn't he?"

 

Another exchange of glances was her only reply.

 

Muriel closed her eyes wearily. "Look," she whispered, "I know what you two are expecting to find out and, believe me, it's not going to happen." Taking a quick glance around the room for eavesdroppers, she leaned in even closer. "You just tell you-know-who that if he has a question to ask me he should just ask me. I'm not interested in talking to messengers... no offense." At this she straightened up, announced with decided finality that she was needed in the kitchen, and hurried out of the room without looking back.

 

When she had gone, Hercules and Iolaus looked at each other dubiously.

 

"Normal something," Iolaus announced.

 

Hercules shook his head thoughtfully. "I still think it might be a *something* something."

 

Popping the last piece of sausage into his mouth, Iolaus stood and leaned irritably against the bar. "You're hopeless," he declared as he chewed. "The only *something* something around here is that crap you ordered for breakfast." He glanced at the glop warily, as if wondering whether it might try and crawl out of the bowl.

 

Hercules shrugged, tossing a few dinari on the bar as he rose. "We'll see." Admittedly, he had to agree with his partner's assessment of his breakfast.

 

"Well come on," Iolaus grumbled, grabbing Hercules' arm and heading for the exit. "We don't want to be late for the 'pretend you're a tree' part of rehearsal warm-up."

 

With a last, skeptical look at his breakfast, Hercules shrugged and followed his partner out the door.

 

*  
*  
*

 

The side streets of Ganymede were deserted at this early hour and Hercules and Iolaus had already turned on to the road that would lead them to Zeus Way by the time they saw any signs of life. Interestingly enough, the first people they saw were the old man and his wife that had been spying on them the previous afternoon. The couple crowded each other in their tiny window and the elderly woman waved brightly when she noticed that Hercules had seen them from all the way down the street. The demigod waved back uncertainly as the women screamed, "They're here!"

 

Suddenly, the couple was not alone among the spectators. Curious heads peeped out of at least a dozen of the cottages that girded the narrow street.

 

"What's with this town?" Iolaus wondered aloud, looking oddly at the collection of enthusiastically smiling faces. "I think it's you they're looking at," he informed his partner as they advanced awkwardly down the now-crowded street. "They just must not get a lot of celebrities around here."

 

Hercules winced. He *hated* being referred to as a celebrity and Iolaus knew it. "They get plenty of celebrities in Ganymede," he said testily. "*Real* celebrities." In Hercules' opinion, to be a celebrity you had to *want* to be a celebrity and actually care about stupid things like how other celebrities wore their hair or what region their olive oil came from. He liked to think of himself as the archetypal anti-celebrity.

 

"Yeah," Iolaus scoffed, amused that after all these years it was still so easy to press his partner's buttons, "but I bet they don't stay in the cheap hotels in this neighborhood."

 

"Good point." Hercules examined the faces of their audience, who cheered loudly when the pair of warriors ambled past their particular domicile. "But they're not just watching me. They're watching both of us." He flinched at a sudden, deafening trumpet blast that sounded out just as they passed a small, two story stone structure. From the roof, a boy in his late teens waved his instrument at them excitedly.

 

Iolaus shook his head in disbelief at the sheer ridiculousness of the situation when the boy blew a kiss that was quite evidently meant for him.

 

"That was for you," Hercules pointed out triumphantly.

 

"I know it was," Iolaus groused. "So what does this mean?" He waved stiffly to the crowd and smiled at them through gritted teeth, finding that this made them much quieter and the walk, therefore, that much less unbearable.

 

"Well," the demigod replied, "either it means that they know who you are too, although frankly I wouldn't credit this town with that much wherewithal." This remark elicited a somewhat bitter snort of agreement from his partner. Hercules registered the response as merited and continued. "Or it means that there's something else very strange going on..."

 

Hercules' train of thought was interrupted as something suddenly struck him in the cheek and fell abruptly to the ground. Kneeling to pick it up, he found that it was a fresh-cut flower. A shower of several more blossoms assailed him, accompanied by words of adoration from a young woman hanging from her balcony. "... or," he continued, wavering between mortification and hysterical laughter, "maybe everyone here is just crazy." Hercules looked over at his partner, who had some sort of lingerie hanging from his head, and decided to go with the mortification.

 

"I'm voting for all of the above," Iolaus declared, swatting the underwear out of his hair.

 

Hercules was just contemplating breaking out into a run when they drew level with the elderly couple's house. "Howzabout a kiss, big guy?" yelled the old man lecherously.

 

His nerves frayed and his temper short, Hercules stopped, hands on hips, and addressed the man angrily. "I am *not* going to kiss you," he declared.

 

The old man cackled wickedly at this. "Not me, stupid. *Him*." A long, gnarled finger pointed instructively at Iolaus and the street erupted with cheers.

 

Hercules looked down at Iolaus dumbfounded. "He just called me 'stupid,'" he said quietly and reflectively, as if musing about how such a thing could have happened.

 

"They're all crazy," Iolaus hissed in response, sounding not a little insanity-riddled himself. No longer able to contain his outright laughter at the situation, Iolaus buried his face in his partner's bicep and just let go, his shoulders shaking violently.

 

"Aw," yelled an affronted voice from down the street. "You made him cry!" This statement incited a flurry of whispered discussions among the crowd and caused Iolaus' shoulders to begin quaking with redoubled vigor.

 

Unsure about who was deserving of the most immediate berating, Hercules was preparing to launch into an indiscriminate tirade aimed at everyone present when he noticed that the stoop next door to the elderly couple's house was conspicuously unoccupied. He thought back to the girl who had been there yesterday: her olive skin, long, dark hair, and innocent features were unforgettable and despite the apparent presence of the rest of the neighborhood he had not seen her today.

 

"Where's she?" he asked, pointing curiously at the stoop. This question was directed at Iolaus, as if he had any possibility of knowing.

 

Iolaus looked up, wiping the tears of laughter from his eyes, and with a raise of his eyebrows was able to instruct his partner to kindly redirect the question.

 

Shaking himself free of at least some of his disorientation, Hercules repeated his inquiry to the old man.

 

"Taken," the man replied.

 

"Taken?" Iolaus repeated, finally recovering his ability to speak. "Where? By who?"

 

The old man was adamant. "Taken," he insisted.

 

Hercules frowned and scanned the faces of the crowd that had emerged from their houses and gathered around them. Some of the people looked confused or worried, whilst others were nodding confidently as if to say, "Yep. Taken. That's where she is all right." Vaguely aware of the sound of an agitated Iolaus interrogating the man for further information, Hercules searched around desperately for someone, *anyone*, that might be able to expound upon the "taken" explanation, or at the very least contradict it. Finally, in the last place he looked, he found someone. It was the old man's wife.

 

Laying a hand on Iolaus' shoulder to suspend his rather circular discussion with the stubborn elder, Hercules faced the woman, who had been rolling her eyes and winking at him. "Do you have something else to report?" he asked patiently.

 

With a sweet smile, the old woman reached out to pinch Hercules' cheek between claw-like fingers. "Just that you shouldn't bother listening to a crazy old coot like Senilius here. I know exactly where little Mione went. She went sea-bathing."

 

"'Swhat I said!" Senilius shouted, glaring at his wife in agitation. "She was taken!"

 

"I didn't say, 'taken' I said, 'sea-bathing!'" the wife shouted back, directly into her husband's ear. She turned to Hercules and smiled. "His hearing is starting to go," she explained patiently.

 

While Senilius did not seem particularly convinced by this argument he was sufficiently confused that he stopped yelling at everyone. The gathered townspeople were quickly taken up in the debate about the whereabouts of young Mione and they divided themselves into small groups, discussing the subject with great animation.

 

Perplexed as ever by the bizarrely unfolding events, Hercules looked down at Iolaus uncertainly. "Feel like getting out of here?" he asked.

 

Iolaus gazed back earnestly, all traces of laughter gone from his expression. "Definitely."

 

Hercules nodded. "Feel like running?"

 

"You have to ask?"

 

Careful not to cause a distraction, Hercules and Iolaus slowly made their way to the periphery of the crowd and then set out at a full clip, gratefully rounding the corner onto Zeus Way before anyone had noticed their absence.

 

*  
*  
*

 

Hercules and Iolaus were immensely gratified to find that Zeus Way was as abandoned as the majority of the narrow back-streets they had traversed after they left the inn. Though unquestionably the most densely populated of any of the areas in Ganymede, the level of revelry tended to be sufficiently high such as to leave the street consistently empty before midday. Unlike Senilius and his neighbors, the Zeus Way vacationers did not apparently find categorical insanity a sufficient enticement to lure them out of bed.

 

With a sigh of relief, Hercules slowed his pace first to a jog and then to his typical walking speed, with Iolaus following suit. The demigod contemplated his surroundings, hoping to clear his head. When not thronging with people, Zeus Way proved itself to be an immensely beautiful locality. The broad avenue stretched out ahead of them, lined with eclectic but well-matched architectural endeavors, many of which featured lavish rooftop gardens that brimmed with exotic fragrances. Lush red-flowering ivy crept along stylized trellises, their ample blossoms just beginning to open up as the sun rose higher in the east. At the far end of Zeus Way the street stretched out into a wide elliptical plaza which, later in the day, would house the town marketplace. For the moment, however, the plaza was vacant and cleansed the visual palette to provide an impeccable vista of the vast expanse of beach, sand pale as powdered ivory, that separated the town from the sapphire waters of the lagoon. As the perfect finishing touch, the entire landscape was framed by the majestic, gold and silver sparkling cliffs. The view, Hercules had to admit, was truly spectacular. But that didn't mean the town wasn't pissing him off.

 

In the meantime, Iolaus had caught his breath and begun muttering to himself in fits and starts. This was his favorite way of thinking through problems, a fact that very few people could seem to grasp. As a sidebar to one of his internal rants, he noted that while any other companion he might have had at this moment would have been constantly interrupting him to inquire as to whether he was talking to them, Hercules just went on looking at the flowers or whatever it was he was doing and left him alone. Iolaus liked that. Even Ania had never quite grasped his thinking style and would become suddenly paranoid that she should be listening to his free-associative mumblings. Of course, Ania had been a simple, *wonderful* girl. And Hercules was a complex, wonderful man. Of course he had also had about a fifteen year head start on her in the game of understanding Iolaus' psyche, which didn't hurt either.

 

Iolaus shook himself, suddenly aware that his thoughts were meandering. The point, or at least one of them, was that he was thankful to have Hercules for a partner. Not that he didn't realize that already, of course, but he enjoyed having these epiphanies now and then to reaffirm what he already knew. The other point clarified by this little mental side trip was that his brain was clearly unwilling to think about the situation at hand any longer. He had all the ideas he was going to get and, frankly, they weren't much.

 

"Okay," announced Iolaus in his authoritative 'I'm ready to have an intelligent conversation now' voice. "As I see it, here's the situation: you've got people who may or may not be disappearing mysteriously, a paranoid barmaid, a skittish innkeeper who apparently attended Salmoneus' discount dinar acting seminar, an ambient feeling of horniness, and what can only be described as a good, healthy dose of us-related mass hysteria. Any or all occurrences subject to being imagined or unrelated."

 

"That about sums it up." Hercules agreed, frowning with his entire face and letting out an aggravated little snort. He hated being stumped. Right now what he wanted more than anything was to be able to kill a monster and have all the problems magically go away. Unfortunately these problems did not appear to be of the monster-killing variety. They appeared to be of the not-making-any-sense variety.

 

Iolaus was still thinking aloud and getting nowhere. "It just doesn't make any sense," he concluded with a defeated shrug.

 

"Nope."

 

They walked along in silence, the empty road echoing only with their footsteps. Hercules tried to think about the problem. He *wanted* to think about the problem. But for some reason his brain was not cooperating. At his side, Iolaus had begun muttering to himself again. 'Fine,' he thought resignedly. 'Let him figure this one out. I'll just enjoy the morning and look up at the pretty blue sky.' He looked up at the pretty blue sky.

 

The morning was clear and bright, albeit surprisingly mild for the season, and a southwesterly wind had blown in to sweep the sky clean of the thin clouds that had lingered overhead the previous day. The heavens were an uninterrupted swath of blue and Hercules squinted up at them, distracted by a sudden motion in his peripheral vision. An osprey and an eagle, locked in heated battle, had just soared over the crest of the western cliff. They swooped and dodged as if partaking in some ritual dance until the eagle, having gained the advantage in altitude, dove claws extended for the osprey's throat. The osprey exhibited some impressive aerial acrobatics, turning over mid-flight to face the eagle claws-up. The eagle swerved at this riposte and pulled back to reassess its strategy. In an effort to reverse their positions the osprey turned southward and began a steady ascent but the eagle countered with an abrupt nosedive.

 

His attention strangely rapt by this battle, Hercules stopped walking and tipped his head back as far as he could to watch the birds, who were now directly above him. The osprey had started to follow the eagle in its dive but not long after it had dropped below the level of the cliffs its trajectory took an unnatural jog and it pulled up, screeching in fury, and began to circle. Noticing that it was no longer being pursued, the eagle pulled out of its dive and entered into a steep ascent. However, just as it was about to reach its enemy the eagle stopped short, its wings went limp, and it plummeted motionless to earth.

 

Eyes widening, Hercules sprang into action. Now this was a problem he could solve. Shielding his eyes against the sun, he made a quick estimation of the eagle's most likely point of impact and then jogged into place, adjusting his position a few steps back and forth as it fell. When the great bird arrived earthward Hercules extended his arms and caught it with as much cushioning as he could muster. The bird was alive, although stunned and disoriented, and Hercules blinked at it in bewilderment.

 

Iolaus, who was revisiting his theory that Senilius and his comrades were a roving squadron of maniacal Hercules buffs, had carried on walking at his original pace, lost in his own thoughts, and was just now drawing even with his partner. "Hey Herc," he said, looking up from the ground contemplatively, "what do you think about... Whoa! Where did you get that?" He jumped back in alarm and pointed at the enormous bird of prey.

 

Hercules looked flatly at his partner, who gaped back at him. "It fell," he explained. "I caught it."

 

"Oh," Iolaus replied, confident that Hercules would properly interpret the response as a 'What in Tartarus is going on here?' 'Oh' rather than a 'Yes, I understand you perfectly' 'Oh.' "So..." he continued after blinking at the eagle for several moments, "should I add 'birds spontaneously falling out of the sky' to our running list of problems?"

 

"Yes, please."

 

"Check."

 

The dazed eagle was beginning to regain some awareness, so Hercules held out his arm for it to perch on, holding it steady with his free hand. Once it could balance by itself it swayed awkwardly for a few moments and then flapped its wings in sudden panic, clenching the demigod's arm painfully with its claws. It quickly calmed down, however, relaxing its grip. The bird blinked in confusion at its rescuer before looking up at the sky in search of the osprey, which had long since fled. With some trepidation, the eagle flapped its wings and took flight, staying relatively low to the ground as it traversed Zeus Way towards the mountains. When it reached the cliff it ascended far enough to alight on an upper spire of Ganymede's marble palace, where it seemed perfectly content to stay.

 

Once they had finished monitoring the eagle's departure, Hercules and Iolaus turned to look at each other in resigned confusion. Suddenly, however, Iolaus' eyes widened and he snapped his fingers excitedly. "I've got it!" he exclaimed. "It's *so* obvious. I know exactly what's going on."

 

Hercules waited expectantly, arms folded. This he had to hear.

 

"It's so simple," Iolaus declared, gesturing animatedly as he paced back and forth in front of his partner. "We're dead."

 

Hercules covered his eyes with his hand briefly and then slid it down his face so he could glare at Iolaus through his fingers. 'Great. The insanity has gotten to *him* now. What next?'

 

Reading his partner's thoughts, Iolaus shook his head vigorously. "No you don't understand," he explained. "We're dead and Ares or some other jerk had us sent to Tartarus. I mean think about it: what is your ultimate hell?"

 

"Last year," responded the demigod with decided unenthusiasm.

 

"When I was...?"

 

"Yes."

 

"Be serious."

 

The warning look Iolaus received settled that question readily enough and he found himself musing that for all the grim reports Jason had given him of Hercules' behavior in his absence, the former king must still have done some pretty serious sugarcoating. Iolaus grimaced as he looked up at his partner, wondering whether to feel sorrier for Hercules or the rest of Greece. Greece, he decided. Shaking himself back into the present, Iolaus returned to the discussion at hand.

 

"Okay," he said, with considerably more guarded vim, "well, then, what's *our* ultimate hell? I mean, we're both here, right?"

 

"Right."

 

"Well, maybe we're doomed to spend eternity in a world full of problems that we can't figure out how to fix."

 

Hercules lifted his brows. That actually wasn't a bad theory. He thought for a moment and then shook his head. "Nope," he declared. "There's one major flaw in that idea."

 

"And what flaw is that?" Iolaus asked defensively, hands firmly planted on his hips.

 

Quirking an eyebrow, Hercules looked down at his partner and curled his lips into a soft smile. "The sex wouldn't be this good in Tartarus."

 

Iolaus opened his mouth to object but then snapped it firmly shut again. He just couldn't argue with logic like that. "So what do you think we should do?" he inquired at last.

 

"The only thing we can do," Hercules replied grimly. "Go to rehearsal."

 

Iolaus winced, wishing desperately that there were some alternative. With a heavy heart, they continued walking, Hercules laying a comforting arm across his partner's shoulders. As they approached the theater Iolaus' thoughts drifted from muddled concerns about the strange happenings in the town of Ganymede to focused dread about Salmoneus' regimen of vocal exercises.

 

When they arrived at the theater, however, the silence of the morning was pierced by a panicked scream from somewhere beyond the plaza.

 

"Naturally," said Hercules, offering his partner a weary shrug before he took off top speed towards the source of the noise. Iolaus followed, feeling guiltily grateful for the reprieve.

 

*  
*  
*

 

The plaza was oddly vacant considering the hour. In every other town in Greece, the marketplaces would be bustling with merchants and farmers setting up shop well before the sun dared to peek over the horizon. In Ganymede, however, the merchants were not due for at least another hour, presumably because their customers rarely went to bed before dawn. Fortunately for Hercules and Iolaus, the lack of stalls and carts cluttering the plaza permitted them to traverse it almost instantly.

 

Beyond the plaza they slowed and scanned the shoreline for the origin of the screams, Hercules taking the west and Iolaus taking the east.

Almost immediately, Iolaus punched Hercules in the shoulder. "Look." At the far eastern end of the beach he could just make out the form of a young man splashing frantically. He was only a few paces out from shore but was nevertheless submerged up to his chest. Even at this distance the panic was evident on his bronzed features. The screaming and arm-flailing didn't hurt in relaying that either.

 

Exchanging a concerned glance, the two heroes took off at a sprint. Being naturally faster and graced with the added advantage of not sinking quite so far into the sand, Iolaus soon outdistanced his partner, picking up speed as he saw the boy sink further and further into the sea. The wind screamed in his ears and the saltiness of the sea-spray stung his eyes as he dove to grasp the thrashing hand, now the only part of the boy above water, before it disappeared. Iolaus braced himself, bending his knees for stability and gripping the hand that clawed at him desperately with both of his own. The tide was calm and the water only calf-deep but the boy continued to descend with an unnatural force that pulled Iolaus to his knees. He reached out with his left hand to catch himself as he fell, right arm still gripping the boy's, although the struggling had ceased. Emitting a growl of exertion as his bicep dipped below the water, Iolaus felt a final pull as the hand was wrenched away from him with a strength that nearly dislocated his shoulder. He staggered back on the release and then fell forward, clawing at the sand where the boy had just been. But the sand was just sand and beneath it lay a bed of solid, impenetrable rock.

 

Iolaus swore and sat back on his haunches, staring into the water as the barely perceptible tide washed over him with cruel, exaggerated gentleness. The sand that had been stirred up by the struggle began to settle and the shallows returned to their usual crystalline clarity. He swore again and stood. Whatever was going on in Ganymede had just ceased to be harmless. "What do you make of this?" he called back to his partner, keeping his eyes fixed perplexedly on the spot where the boy had been standing.

 

No answer.

 

He exhaled impatiently. "Hercules, I..." Iolaus turned around. The beach was utterly deserted. With a sudden, rising panic it occurred to him that his partner might have fallen victim to a bizarre vortex like the one that had taken the boy. "Taken," Iolaus whispered to himself, the old man's words from earlier ringing eerily in his skull.

 

"No," he assured himself, shaking his head free of his worst fears. "Hercules would have called out to me if he had gotten in trouble." Or would he? The demigod would never willfully force Iolaus to choose between saving his life and that of an innocent. Better to slip away quietly and guilt-free. Iolaus gritted his teeth. "Stop it!" he screamed.

 

Still adjusting to an existence free of constant mental torment at the hands of Dahak, Iolaus was continually struggling against many of his behaviorally conditioned responses. Yelling at his own brain when it thought things he didn't like was one of the after-effects.

 

Iolaus pressed his palms into his eyes for a few moments before deciding to get to dry land. The shallows of the lagoon, it seemed, were not the safest place to be. 'Although,' he considered as he tromped, clothes dripping, up the sandy shore, 'if Hercules really has been taken and is still alive, then my best bet of finding him is to go back in there and get taken myself.' He contemplated this for a moment, gnawing thoughtfully on his thumb.

 

And then he saw it. It hadn't been visible from his vantage in the lagoon, but now that Iolaus had ventured further up the incline of the beach it was plain as day. A body - about a dozen paces to the near side of where Zeus Way sloped down to the lagoon. Hercules.

 

Immediately, Iolaus bolted for his partner, sliding in next to him on the soft sand and pressing his ear to his chest. The heartbeat was there and it was strong but Hercules was unconscious. A quick inspection revealed a nasty bump on his head and Iolaus looked around in confusion, wondering if another falling eagle had caught his partner off guard. But there was nothing: no bird corpse, no weapon, no sign of a struggle, not even a second set of footprints in the sand. All he saw was the surf, the sand, the demigod, and a welt on his forehead that was rapidly swelling to the size of a crab apple.

 

*  
*  
*

 

Iolaus took a deep breath, letting a renewed calm wash over him as he registered the steady rise and fall of his partner's chest. Hercules was going to be fine. He would probably come to in a few moments and be none the worse for wear save for a nasty headache and a rather unattractive lump on his head. He brushed a few strands of hair away from the demigod's injury and then pushed his own tangled curls out of his face before pulling back one of Hercules' eyelids to check his pupil for responsiveness. However, before he could proceed with the examination something odd struck him and he reached up to feel his hair again. It was perfectly dry.

 

Blinking in confusion, Iolaus stood and looked down at his clothes. Moments ago he had been soaking wet from his attempt to save the boy from the vortex in the shallows and by all rights he ought to be wet, salt-streaked, and caked with sand wherever his drenched clothes and skin had made contact with the beach. On the contrary, however, he was as dry as he had been before arriving at the lagoon. His pants did not even exhibit the characteristic stiffness of leather that has been soaked and then dried again. He frowned, casting a quick glance down at Hercules, who was not yet stirring.

 

Perplexedly, Iolaus turned to peer out at the ocean, feeling somehow that it held the answer to whatever question he was supposed to be asking. His mind spun, trying to conceive of how he could have gotten dry so quickly. He spent several moments pacing aimlessly as he considered the possibilities. Had he lost time somehow? Perhaps he, like Hercules, had been rendered mysteriously unconscious. He ran a quick hand over his own scalp, feeling for unnatural lumps. Nothing.

 

"Can't be," he mused aloud, his attention caught by the brilliant streaks of sunlight reflected in the glassy surface of the lagoon. The sun was still low on the horizon, confirming that no appreciable time had passed. So what in Tartarus was going on?

 

At length, a pained moan interrupted Iolaus' thoughts and he directed his eyes downward to see that Hercules was beginning to stir. "You okay, Herc?"

 

The demigod emitted a disoriented grunt as his eyelids fluttered open, only to wince against the brightness of the day and squeeze them closed again. His face contorted into an exaggerated grimace that Iolaus might have found comical if he weren't so disturbed by Hercules' injury and the circumstances, or rather lack thereof, that had brought it about.

 

With a frown, he shrugged out of his vest and trotted down the beach to where the water lapped innocently against the sand. The tide had been rising steadily since their arrival and Iolaus was grateful for the small boon of being able to keep an eye on his partner as he soaked his vest in the cool water. It wasn't often that Hercules required the use of a cold compress but this, he decided, was definitely one of those times. Dripping vest in hand he sprinted back to where Hercules lay muttering incoherently.

 

"Herc? Buddy?"

 

Hercules groaned and raised a shaky hand to his head.

 

"Here," Iolaus murmured, kneeling next to his partner, "this will help." He gripped his vest with both hands to wring it free of excess water but found, again, that it was perfectly dry. "What the fuck?"

 

The volume of Iolaus' exclamation made Hercules wince in pain but apparently reactivated his verbal skills. "What?" he slurred. "Iolaus? What's going on?"

 

"I have no idea," Iolaus muttered. He threw his vest to the sand in exasperation and knelt to place a cool hand against his partner's cheek. Out of habit or necessity or both, the demigod tilted his head, leaning into the contact.

 

"Where are we?"

 

Iolaus frowned and peered down at his partner curiously. Whatever had hit him had gotten him good. "We're on the beach," he said softly. "In Ganymede." He froze for a moment as a horrifying thought struck him. "Please, Herc, *please* tell me you don't have amnesia. Again."

 

His eyes barely slit, Hercules lifted his head and looked around blearily. "Don't tell you I have what? Who are you again?"

 

Iolaus pursed his lips. "That's not funny," he grumbled. Despite his words, however, he couldn't help but smile a moment later in response to Hercules' weak chortling. "You may be on to something," he mused. "Amnesia's a pretty good excuse for missing rehearsal with Salmoneus. Maybe I'll come down with it too."

 

"Good idea," Hercules croaked with grim humor. He let his head fall back onto the sand and winced at the resultant stab of pain. In a fraction of an instant, however, his expression changed to one of horrified urgency. "Iolaus!" he cried, "The boy!" His brain had apparently managed to reconstruct the events leading up to his injury and he leapt determinedly to his feet.

 

At once there was a sickening thud and Hercules pitched backwards, falling to the sand with a resounding impact.

 

Iolaus had been startled by his partner's sudden movement and had barely registered what was happening when he heard the crack and saw him crumple to the sand, felled by an invisible force. Warily he turned Hercules' head towards him and noticed a faint red welt just to the right of the large lump from his earlier accident. The demigod was out cold.

 

"Okay..." Iolaus muttered uncertainly as his brain tried to comprehend what had just transpired. His concern outweighing all feelings of foolishness, he took a few steps forward and waved his arm through the region of air that had so violently vanquished his partner. Nothing. It seemed perfectly normal. He explored the area thoroughly but could find no evidence of anything that could have rendered someone unconscious. His eyes flitted from the pained face of Hercules to his vest, which lay rumpled on the sand. Since his partner would evidently not be waking up for a while, he decided to readdress the issue of the miraculous, instant-dry garment.

 

*  
*  
*

 

"Ow," said Hercules and he genuinely meant it. He dragged his hand to his face and let it rest over his eyes, hissing as his thumb brushed against the painful contusion near his right temple. "What... in Tartarus... happened?" He lifted his head to peer up at Iolaus, who was sitting nearby muttering to himself. The hunter's bare skin glistened with sweat and sand and when he turned to face him his cheeks were flushed with exertion.

 

"Oh sure," he chided, "now you wake up. Now that I've dragged you fifty paces up the beach. Do you *know* how damn heavy you are?" Behind the sarcasm, his eyes flashed with relief.

 

Hercules took a deep breath and propped himself up on his elbows, blinking his eyes free of sand and sea salt. He scanned the beach, trying to remember what they were doing there. "What happened?"

 

Iolaus threw down the small fragment of shell he had been fiddling with and strolled forward to crouch beside the demigod. "We came to investigate the screams," he said quietly.

 

His eyes widening in recollection, Hercules jolted up. "The boy!"

 

Before he could get to his feet, however, Iolaus planted a hand firmly on his shoulder. "He's gone. A while ago now." When his partner looked up at him inquisitively he added, "Taken."

 

The word seemed to echo aimlessly in Hercules' mind until he finally placed its meaning and remembered where he had heard it before. The old lunatic on the far side of town had apparently been uttering the truth. He leaned forward, rested his elbows against his knees, and gazed out at the sea, trying not to dwell on the young life whose future he had failed to preserve. After a moment he looked back at Iolaus. "So what happened to me?"

 

"Good question," Iolaus responded earnestly. "I've made a discovery or two during your little nap but I'm still a long way from figuring things out. Can you stand?"

 

"I think so." One hand on Iolaus' shoulder for support, Hercules got shakily to his feet. His head throbbed and his thoughts were sluggish with wooziness but at least he was standing. He looked at the deep furrow in the sand that began midway down the beach and ended where he now stood, smiling in amusement despite the gravity of the situation. Iolaus really had dragged him fifty paces. No wonder there was so much sand in his pants.

 

"This way," Iolaus instructed, guiding him forward with a gentle pressure at the elbow.

 

Hercules was vaguely annoyed by this. "I'm okay now, Iolaus. You don't need to lead me around like a puppy."

 

"Maybe *you* think that," he responded, "but, frankly, I'm sick of sitting around this beach waiting for you to regain consciousness. Just go slow, okay? And wave your hands out in front of you, like this." Iolaus threw his arms out and gesticulated wildly.

 

Hercules laughed in surprise and almost lost his balance. He couldn't help it. "Is this another one of Salmoneus' exercises? Because I'm not really in the mood right now."

 

"Just do it." Iolaus glared at him impatiently, as if he had already played out this argument a dozen times in his head and was sick of getting the same responses again and again.

 

Resignedly, Hercules obeyed, fervently hoping that no one would wander along and see them. If people were disappearing, the last thing he and Iolaus needed to be doing was practicing their mummy impersonations. He was just about to point this out to his partner when his hand suddenly struck something hard. "What the...?"

 

Iolaus raised his eyebrows at the exclamation. "Did you find it?"

 

"I think so." Hercules frowned down at his right hand, where a newly jammed finger was beginning to swell. It definitely was not his day. "Want to fill me in as to what 'it' is?"

 

"I have no idea."

 

"Oh, that helps. Thanks."

 

"You're welcome."

 

Hercules rolled his eyes at his partner and extended his hand cautiously towards whatever had struck him. His fingertips brushed what felt like a marble wall in what was ostensibly thin air. He frowned, flattening his palm against the invisible surface. It felt absolutely solid. Pressing against it more forcefully, he found that it would not yield. Finally, he drew his eyebrows together and nodded decisively. "It's a wall," he declared.

 

Returning the demigod's nod, Iolaus grimaced. "And you must have run into it at a full sprint. Ow. No wonder it knocked you out." He scratched his head absently, dislodging a small shower of sand. "I figured it had to be a wall but I wasn't completely sure..."

 

"It's not really that hard to figure out, Iolaus," Hercules replied, glancing at his partner dubiously. "Sure it's invisible, but a wall's still just a wall."

 

"You think so, eh?" Iolaus looked up at him, his eyes flashing with challenge. With a wicked smile he ducked below Hercules' outstretched arm and insinuated himself between the demigod and the transparent barricade. "Well we both know how much you like walls, don't we?" His demeanor, which moments earlier had been all business, suddenly shifted to one of blatant allurement.

 

The change did not go unnoticed by Hercules, who found himself suddenly transfixed by the sight of his partner, the sheen of perspiration that coated his skin highlighted by the blazing southern sun. Unconsciously, he followed the trail of a bead of sweat that emerged from behind Iolaus' ear, traveled down his neck, and pooled briefly in his collarbone before proceeding to explore the contours of his chest. The immediate question of what could have caused the barricade abruptly ceded its priority to more urgent, less abstract thoughts in the demigod's mind. Feeling suddenly dizzy, Hercules leaned more heavily against the invisible wall for support, and act which un-coincidentally brought his entire body closer to Iolaus.

 

At once, Hercules became keenly aware of the same sensation of electric desire that had nearly overwhelmed him the previous day. Thinking back on the gradual evolution of his state of mind, he realized that while the feeling had never really left him, its potency had become sufficiently dampened so as not to register as anything abnormal. But now it had returned full-force and Hercules realized that its influence was changing over an ongoing cycle, ebbing and swelling in a slow rhythm like the tide. Before he could consider the implications of this, however, he was distracted by a finger trailing lightly down his chest.

 

Hercules cocked an eyebrow and gazed curiously at Iolaus, who leered back at him with an impish grin. He too, it seemed, was succumbing to the enticing influence that had captivated the demigod. But was he actually suggesting that they...? Right out in the open? And in the middle of a supernatural disaster? He gasped slightly as Iolaus' thumb flicked over his left nipple before meandering down to explore the muscles along his ribcage. Yes, apparently that was exactly what Iolaus was suggesting.

 

Admittedly, Hercules was tempted. *Very* tempted. Not that Iolaus usually had difficulty seducing him into the occasional illicit act but he didn't tend to try it when they were in the middle of a crisis. Hercules bit his lip as Iolaus' hand found its way to the small of his back and put up no resistance as he pulled him closer. Iolaus was a hard man to say no to. And he certainly had a point: Hercules had an extreme fondness for walls, particularly where the hunter was concerned.

 

With a quick glance over his shoulder to check for onlookers, Hercules smiled and leaned closer, forearm braced against the cold surface of the invisible wall. Iolaus smiled demurely and then offered a playful flash of tongue-tip.

 

That was it. Hercules closed his eyes and leaned forward, moistening his lips - still raw from the night before - with a quick dart of his tongue. One kiss, he promised himself, and then they would return to their investigation. His lips tingled with the heat radiating from Iolaus' skin and he amended his decision to allow for a *few* kisses but nothing more. Not yet meeting his mark, he drew even further forward, leaning closer and closer until his nose pressed against something hard. And cold. He opened his eyes in surprise.

 

About three paces in front of him, Iolaus stood with his arms folded and a smug expression plastered across his face and Hercules became suddenly aware that his nose was squished up against the invisible barrier. He straightened up abruptly and glowered at his partner.

 

"Iolaus," he griped irritably. "How did you...?" He stretched out both hands and began feeling along the wall for the opening.

 

"Simple," Iolaus replied haughtily. He took a few steps forward and poked Hercules in the chest, grinning broadly when the demigod's attempt at retaliation was obligingly impeded by the wall. "There's no barricade for me. It only works on you."

 

Hercules widened his eyes in astonishment and then glared down at his partner. "Well that was a cruel way of making your point." He shifted his hips uncomfortably beneath the unyielding leather.

 

Iolaus raised his hands defensively. "Hey, I wouldn't have done it that way if you hadn't been acting like a jerk."

 

Hercules, having been glaring irritably out at the sea, returned his gaze sharply to his partner. "I wasn't acting like a jerk."

 

"'An invisible wall is still a wall, Iolaus.'" he repeated, planting his hands on his hips. "What, am I Joxer now?"

 

Hercules began to protest but snapped his mouth closed again. "Okay," he sighed. "No more jerk. Got it."

 

"Good," said Iolaus brightly, dusting his hands free of the topic. "Now do you think you can figure out what in Tartarus is going on? Because I have no fucking idea."

 

Still reeling somewhat from Iolaus' impromptu game of keep-away, Hercules tried to focus on the problem of the wall. What possible purpose did it serve? He rested his palm against it and frowned. "So this only works on me?"

 

"Not just you, actually..." Iolaus said. "Stay there, let me show you something."

 

"Like I have a choice?" Hercules folded his arms as he watched his partner jog down to the water and fish something out of the surf. The tide was nearing its peak and Hercules strove judiciously to ignore the spurious thoughts that flitted through his mind as Iolaus bent over to retrieve his objective. Instead, he fixed his eyes on the horizon and the stretch of cloudless sky that rose beyond. The heavens had always felt unattainably vast but now, trapped as he was behind an unfathomable barricade, even the blue dome of the firmament made him feel oddly claustrophobic. It was a sobering thought that helped to quell the demands of his disturbingly adolescent libido.

 

When Iolaus returned he was carrying an enormous, knobbed seashell filled to its coral brim with seawater. "Watch this," he said, throwing the water directly at Hercules.

 

Hercules leapt backwards to avoid the inevitable dousing but the water never arrived. The moment it reached what was presumably the wall it flattened itself out into a thin sheet and dripped to the ground, moistening the sand below. He gaped at Iolaus, who just shrugged and tossed the seashell over his shoulder. Taking a few cautious steps forward, he knelt to feel the bone-dry sand at the barrier's base. He could distinctly perceive the location of the wall by the sharp boundary produced by the subtly darker hue of the moistened sand beyond. Frowning, he glanced up at his partner. "This is just bizarre," he muttered.

 

"Good assessment," said Iolaus, ambling up to him. Arms folded, he straddled the boundary in a broad stance, not the least bit perturbed at being bisected by what was, at least to Hercules' sensibilities, an impenetrable wall. "So," he added after a moment, "now what do we do?"

 

Wincing involuntarily as Iolaus stepped the rest of the way through the barrier, Hercules sighed. He had absolutely no idea.

 

*  
*  
*

 

After an exhaustive but largely ineffectual debate, Hercules and Iolaus found themselves wandering back through the marketplace, where the merchants were only just beginning to set up shop. In their discussion on how to proceed, the only thing they had managed to decide conclusively was that it would be prudent to distance themselves from the lagoon before further injury was incurred.

 

"It's the gods," Iolaus was insisting as they wandered past a jewelry stall. "It has to be." The elderly jeweler-woman, stooped and gnarled though she was, offered them her most scintillating smile as they strolled by.

 

Hercules shook his head, politely declining the jeweled armband proffered by the admiring crone. "But there are very strict rules about this sort of thing. Even the gods have to follow protocol, and one of the major rules is that no god is permitted to trifle with another's territory."

 

"That's a good one," Iolaus scoffed. He selected an apple from a nearby cart and smiled his thanks when the vendor graciously refused payment.

 

"I'm serious," Hercules insisted.

 

"I know," Iolaus said. "That's what's funny." He took a loud bite of the apple and wiped the juice from his mouth with the back of his hand. A trio of Sumerian noblewomen gossiped delightedly to one another as they strolled past, the hard soles of their desert sandals clattering loudly against the broad flagstones of the marketplace.

 

"Oh," said Hercules uncertainly, wincing at the unbearable clamor of the women's footwear. He was still feeling the after-effects of multiple blows to the head and took a moment to let the searing pain behind his eyes die down before continuing. "Anyway, this is Ganymede's town and if any of the gods tried to get involved here without his permission he would go crying to Zeus at the first opportunity." He scowled. "The little twit."

 

Iolaus laughed so hard at this comment that he nearly choked on his apple. "You *really* don't like Ganymede, do you?"

 

"And why should I like him?" Hercules demanded. "It's not like he's ever done anything worthwhile. He was a spoiled, do-nothing prince until my father whisked him away to Olympus and now he's a spoiled, do-nothing immortal. As if we didn't have enough of those already."

 

"Hey, I'm not saying I disagree with you," Iolaus chuckled. "It's just funny to see you so worked up about someone so innocuous." A sudden outburst of gay laughter from the Sumerian women caught his ear but he resisted the temptation to look back at them.

 

"My *point*," said Hercules, hoping to move the conversation along before he was subjected to further mockery at the hands of his partner, "is that assuming Ganymede knows about this..." he gestured absently seaward, "whatever this is... he must have sanctioned it. Unless, of course, the gods aren't involved."

 

"Oh they're involved all right," said Iolaus through a mouthful of apple.

 

"What makes you so sure?" Hercules looked askance at a collection of teenage girls who appeared to be pointing at him and giggling. He put a firm hand on Iolaus' shoulder and redirected their path to avoid having to approach the girls any nearer but this action just provoked another explosion of delighted squeals.

 

Iolaus rolled his eyes. "Because they're *always* involved. Besides, I figure that barrier on the beach has to be the work of one of your relatives. Otherwise why would it affect you and not me?" He tossed the apple core to the ground, from whence it was immediately salvaged by a small boy. There was a noisy commotion as several people swooped in on the youth, attempting to outbid each other for the right to his prize. Iolaus glanced back at them dubiously.

 

Too focused on the mystery at hand to take notice of the hysteria behind them, Hercules frowned pensively. "So why did the barrier block the water?"

 

Iolaus shrugged. "Maybe the water's divine too."

 

"Holy water? That's a stretch don't you think?"

 

"As opposed to the rest of this situation, which is perfectly logical." Iolaus indicated a nearby woman, who was gaping at them incredulously. As if on cue she swooned and fell to the ground. He folded his arms and looked up at his partner expectantly.

 

Hercules sighed, regarding the unconscious woman with a pained expression. He *really* wanted to pretend this wasn't happening. "Fine," he sighed at last, squeezing his eyes miserably and pinching the bridge of his nose. "Let's consider the god theory. Ganymede couldn't be doing this himself... other than his immortality he's powerless."

 

"He's still got his sex appeal." Iolaus smirked.

 

Prudently ignoring Iolaus' comment, Hercules continued. "One of the other gods has to be behind this and there's only *one* I can think of that would have any interest in this town."

 

Iolaus sniffed at the air experimentally. "Smells like Zeus."

 

Raising his eyebrows, Hercules chuckled. "Remind me, Iolaus. What, exactly, does Zeus smell like?"

 

"Wine?"

 

The pair turned to find an eager, middle-aged merchant blinking back at them. He wore a crimson, lopsided turban and an even more lopsided grin.

 

Hercules lifted his eyebrows, looked askance at Iolaus, who was snickering into his hand, and then regarded the stranger with mild affront. "Excuse me?"

 

"Wine." The merchant repeated cheerfully. "Would you like some?" He extended a pair of ornate wineskins, flashing a smile that seemed to have far too many teeth, most of them crooked.

 

"It's a bit early, thanks," Hercules responded, swatting away Iolaus' hands as they reached out eagerly to accept.

 

"Oh, please," the merchant insisted. "Please take them. It would be such an honor."

 

"Well if it means that much to you," Iolaus replied, elbowing Hercules in the ribs as he stepped forth to take the offered wineskins, "we'd be happy to take these off your hands."

 

The man beamed obsequiously and watched in rapt delight as Iolaus opened one of the flasks and took a long swig before handing it to Hercules. The demigod took a polite sip and smiled weakly at the merchant. "Very lovely," he muttered tersely. Although he had bestowed the compliment in begrudged politeness he had to admit that the wine itself was of excellent quality.

 

Fanning himself melodramatically, the merchant offered them a low bow. "Thank you so much," he gushed. "I am immensely gratified to know that my humble offering can be appreciated and enjoyed by artists of your caliber. Thank you. Thank you." He continued thanking them and bowing as he backed awkwardly away, nearly losing his turban more than once.

 

Hercules shook his head in disbelief while Iolaus just laughed and took another swig of wine. "Here," he said, brandishing the wineskin in front of the demigod's face. "Drink some more of this. It really does help offset the strangeness."

 

Deciding that he was game for anything his partner claimed would ease the troubling absurdity of their situation, Hercules accepted the flask and took a brief but satisfying pull. It was excellent wine, and as he blinked down at the ornately detailed container he recognized the insignia of one of the most well-respected wineries of the region. Beyond the sparkling cliffs that enfolded Ganymede the land grew rich and level and the landscape was speckled with dozens of small vineyards. Their quality unmatched anywhere in Greece, the most prestigious of these vineyards demanded a hefty sum for their products. He estimated that the wineskins the merchant had given them would probably sell for a few dozen dinars apiece.

 

Casting a suspicious eye over his shoulder, Hercules saw that the wine merchant had continued backing away with low, sweeping bows, knocking into countless carts and innocent bystanders as he did so. He frowned and took another swig of the wine. "Since when are we 'artists?'" he wondered aloud.

 

The expected snide reply from Iolaus did not immediately arrive. Instead, Hercules turned to find his partner stopped dead in his tracks, eyes transfixed on some distant object. "Since about the same time Salmoneus decided to make 'Sent to the underworld by Hercules' his claim to fame," he declared at last.

 

"What?" Hercules blinked in pained confusion. His head still hurt. Nevertheless he did his best to comprehend the comment, eyes following the path of Iolaus' gaze. "Why would I...? Oh no. No. NO. No, no, no, no, no, no, no."

 

"Yes."

 

"Is that...?"

 

"Yes."

 

"And are we...?"

 

"Yes."

 

"No."

 

"Yes."

 

Hercules paused. "Salmoneus is dead."

 

"Yes."

 

"Should we have seen this coming?"

 

Lips pursed, Iolaus looked back at him grimly. His expression clearly declared that he was in no humor to repeat himself.

 

*  
*  
*

 

They had just arrived at the edge of the market plaza and from their current vantage point they were offered a truly spectacular view of the store fronts and trellises of Zeus Way as it sloped up to the mountain, among whose splendorous crags was situated the Palace of Ganymede, renowned to be one of the ten most beautiful structures in Greece. The vista was incomparable but there was no question that on this particular morning it was being wholly ignored by all in favor of the object that now engaged the attention of Hercules and Iolaus. It was a banner, easily the height of three or four men, that stretched boldly across the side of the theater Salmoneus had rented. The scene it depicted was remarkably vivid and even more remarkably explicit. Several passers-by had stopped to stare.

 

After several moments had passed as his partner continued to gape at the banner in transfixed horror, Iolaus lifted his eyebrows in concern. "Herc?" he said. "You okay?"

 

Trying and failing to nod and shake his head simultaneously, Hercules issued a quiet, astonished laugh. "I can't believe he did it..."

 

"Well I can," Iolaus snorted. He squinted up at the poster and cocked his head to the side. "At least it explains the way people have been acting so oddly around us."

 

"It does?"

 

"Well... kind of." Frowning, Iolaus absently abstracted the wine from the demigod's hands and took a hefty swig.

 

Hercules squinted back up at the banner with a sigh. At the periphery of his vision he noticed that Iolaus' eyes had begun wandering approvingly down the length of his body as he wiped a few lingering drops of wine from his mouth. His lips curled into a dreamy smile and his lascivious gaze made almost two complete circuits before he realized what he was doing and shook his head clear.

 

Kindly, Hercules pretended not to notice; given the circumstances he could certainly empathize with Iolaus' lack of attention span. "Well it doesn't matter," he grumbled, striving to avoid making eye-contact with his partner lest his own ability to focus begin to falter. "It just makes me all the more motivated to get this mess cleared up and put as much distance as possible between us and this propriety-forsaken town. Let's go pay Ganymede a little visit and see what he has to say about all of this." With a determined glare, he strode forward, Iolaus trotting to catch up.

 

They had hardly passed the steps of the theater, however, when they were arrested by a sing-song tenor edged with impatient exasperation. "There you are!"

 

Halted in his tracks, Hercules winced. Iolaus turned around irritably to face Salmoneus as he clomped gracelessly towards them.

 

"Where have you been?" Salmoneus demanded, nearly tripping on his own robes as he hurried down the broad, stone steps. "I've been waiting for you all morning."

 

"Sorry," Iolaus muttered insincerely. "We got a little sidetracked."

 

"Sure you did," Salmoneus replied with an unconvincingly wounded sniff. "And I suppose that rather than dutifully rehearsing your lines you two have been... Holy Cronos, what happened to you?"

 

Hercules had finally turned around and Salmoneus grimaced at the two huge welts on his forehead. He sighed wearily. "I'm sorry, Sal, but we really don't have time to discuss it right now."

 

Clucking his disapproval, Salmoneus emitted a long-suffering sigh. "All *I* can say is thank the gods for the miracle of stage makeup." He shivered slightly at the ominous glare with which his simple comment was received.

 

Iolaus, meanwhile, had become distracted by several pieces of parchment that crowded the face of the theater, each bearing the same image as the huge banner on the building's seaward wall.

 

"Ah!" Salmoneus said, observing Iolaus' examination of the flier. "I see you've noticed our new advertisements. The project has taken on a whole new direction. New title, new script, new artistic vision. I'm billing it as 'Legendary!'" He made a grandiose gesture, as if envisioning the word emblazoned across the heavens. "Quite a good likeness of you two if you ask me." Salmoneus hesitated, wary of the demigod's stony expression. "What do you think?" he asked hopefully.

 

"I've just got one question," Iolaus responded. He squinted at the parchment and indicated a particular portion of the image. "Is that supposed to be Hercules'..."

 

"It's an artist's conception." Salmoneus hastily explained.

 

"It's offensive," Hercules spat. Much though he had striven to stifle his outrage, even *his* patience had its limits.

 

"Personally, I think it's ridiculous," Iolaus added, pointing at the poster with a mixture of amusement and contempt. "I mean, look at the position you've got us in. Nobody uses that one anymore. It's totally unrealistic."

 

"No kidding," Hercules muttered. "You're nowhere near that limber."

 

"Oh yeah? Well *you're* nowhere near that 'Legendary.'"

 

Salmoneus issued a snort of laughter at this comment and they both glared at him. "Come on, guys," he pleaded. "This isn't about the posters. It's about the two of you: pioneers in the genesis of a new aspect of dramatic craft. I don't think you're appreciating the artistic impact of this project. I mean, just think about it: It's fresh! It's edgy! It's erotic! It's..." Salmoneus extended his arms, his eyes shining with pride, ardor, and the unmistakable gleam of impending wealth, "'LEGENDARY!'"

 

"It's retail voyeurism." Hercules folded his arms and glared down at the merchant, who took a defensive step backwards.

 

"Actually, I prefer the term 'performance art.'"

 

Iolaus chortled at this but Hercules cleared his throat loudly before his partner could offer further comment.

 

His gaze flitting uncertainly between his two unenthusiastic stars, Salmoneus cautiously continued. "At least now you won't have to worry about learning any dialogue," he suggested hopefully.

 

"You've got that right," Hercules snapped. "We're not doing it."

 

There was a brief pause before Salmoneus' lips spread into an amused smirk. "Is that so?" he asked. "Because I've heard something different. As has - if I am to believe the word on the street - the entire compliment of boarders at the Gryphon's Head Inn."

 

Hercules flushed mightily. "The *play*, Salmoneus. We're not doing the play."

 

Instantly, Salmoneus' face fell and he was swept with a sickly pallor. "No," he stuttered, voice rising in panic, "no you can't drop out on me. My investors! They'll break my knees... and my elbows... and anything they happen to find in between!"

 

"Take it easy, Sal," Iolaus said sympathetically, putting a calming hand on the hysterical merchant's shoulder. Unlike Hercules, he was more amused than mortified over the explicit nature of the advertisement and, if he was to be perfectly honest, not particularly averse to the concept of 'performance art.' As long as he and Hercules weren't the ones expected to perform, of course. He patted Salmoneus gently on the back as he hyperventilated into one of the long folds of his robe. "Look, we're sorry but this is a matter of life and death."

 

His panic attack cured with miraculous instantaneity, Salmoneus dropped his robe and eyed Iolaus warily. "And mine isn't?" he demanded. "You think people *don't* die after every bone in their body has been ground up, stuffed in grape leaves and neatly arranged at the altar of Melpomene? Because I beg to differ."

 

Features slightly softening, Hercules took a step forward. "People are disappearing," he explained quietly. "They're vanishing from the lagoon without a trace."

 

Salmoneus blinked up at the demigod with a quizzical expression, as if trying to work out whether his grim revelation was in earnest. Finally he spoke, his voice flat with irony. "Figure that out all by yourself, did you?"

 

There was an excruciatingly awkward pause as the two warriors exchanged meaningful glances. Once the demigod's expression had confirmed that his ears were not playing tricks on him, Iolaus lashed out.

 

"You knew?" His tone was sharp and accusatory, vitriolic enough to cause Salmoneus to edge backwards and flatten himself against the stone wall of the theater.

 

Glancing from an irate Iolaus to a suspicious Hercules, Salmoneus swallowed uncomfortably. "Of course I knew," he declared, emitting a soft, incredulous laugh. "The disappearances have been all over the local gossip rags for the last couple of weeks."

 

"Why didn't you tell us?" Hercules demanded.

 

"I assumed you knew," he replied hastily. "Honestly. It's the talk of the town. Frankly, I didn't think even you two could be *that* out of touch."

 

Hercules frowned and looked over at Iolaus, who had begun pacing furiously and muttering to himself.

 

"They all turn up again, you know," Salmoneus offered meekly. "The ones who get taken, I mean."

 

"What?" Hercules and Iolaus looked at each other uncertainly as the demigod continued. "They come back? Do they say where they've been?"

 

"They don't seem to want to talk about it," Salmoneus said with a shrug, "at least according to the papers. Most of them claim they can't remember."

 

Iolaus narrowed his eyes. "Are they injured or anything when they show up?"

 

Eyebrows raised, Salmoneus took a moment to consider. "No, they're all perfectly healthy... except..."

 

"Except *what*?"

 

"Well, some of them seem to have developed some self-esteem issues... but - hey - they're mostly teenagers. It's pretty much to be expected."

 

Iolaus looked up at Hercules, who frowned stoically. "We *really* need to go have a talk with Ganymede," the demigod declared, turning away from Salmoneus to glower at the pristine turrets of the immortal's castle. "He's our best bet for figuring this out."

 

"Right." Iolaus shoved the wineskins he'd been carrying into Salmoneus' arms and strode to his partner's side. "Let's go."

 

They turned towards the broad cobblestones of Zeus Way but were arrested by Salmoneus' insistent "Wait!"

 

"What?" demanded an irked Iolaus, hands planted firmly on his hips.

 

Salmoneus half-laughed, half-choked. "You're not planning on visiting Ganymede in *those* outfits, are you?"

 

Squinting impatiently at the distant palace, Hercules turned to face the merchant. "Yes, actually. Why?"

 

Head shaking in disbelief, Salmoneus chortled. "Because you'll be lucky if the under-footmen will talk to you in a get-up like that. Look, no one gets into Ganymede's palace without the proper attire. And I mean *no one*." He paused, taking in the two heroes and their matching scowls. "Luckily for you, I've got some more appropriate garments stashed inside."

 

Hercules sighed wearily as Salmoneus helped himself to a fistful of chiton and led him determinedly through the theater entrance. He looked back at Iolaus, who lingered a few paces behind. "Can't we just punch our way in?" At his partner's non-committal shrug he took a deep sullen breath and grumbled, "I really, really, hate this town."

 

"Gee," Iolaus muttered, "I hadn't noticed." He stole a final, parting glance at the 'artist's conception' of a typical evening between him and Hercules before proceeding inside, hoping against hope that Salmoneus had at least one pair of pants without strategically placed windows.

 

*  
*  
*

 

The process of getting the two heroes dressed to Salmoneus' satisfaction was significantly less arduous than any of the party had anticipated. Hercules and Iolaus each slipped agreeably into matching pairs of tight-fitting black leather pants, although they firmly insisted that the lacing that held the pants closed at the front be fastened all the way to the top, much to Salmoneus' dismay. Rifling through the racks of garments that crowded the tiny dressing room, Hercules selected an exquisitely tailored, royal blue shirt and held it up appraisingly against his chest, looking to his partner for a verdict. Before Iolaus could nod his approval, however, Salmoneus snatched the vestment out of the demigod's hands, handing to Iolaus with the justification, "It matches his eyes."

 

"I like this purple one," Iolaus protested, presenting an oriental jerkin embroidered with silver-eyed dragons, but Salmoneus frowned disapprovingly.

 

"Ganymede hates purple," he declared and then lowered his voice secretively. "It's a Hera thing."

 

"I know the feeling," Hercules muttered, picking up a cream-colored tunic that appeared to be the only other garment that would fit him. "Are you sure this is absolutely necessary?"

 

"Of course," Salmoneus insisted, grabbing the tunic and replacing it with a low-cut shirt, also cream-colored, but additionally trimmed in gold. Its cut was identical to the blue shirt he had originally selected, the shirt that Iolaus was now tucking sloppily into his waistband, and Hercules couldn't help but note that their matching outfits would make them look like they belonged to a festival dance troupe.

 

"Ganymede is not somebody you can just walk up and talk to. Even looking the way you two do," continued the merchant-turned-fashion consultant. He took a step back and nodded his approval at their new attire. "He's very fussy. Fortunately for you, I have an in." He smiled conspiratorially. "One of the palace guards has a little crush on me."

 

"I see," said Iolaus, fussing uncomfortably with the too-tight laces of his pants. "And I suppose your interest in *him* is purely brotherly."

 

"It is, actually," Salmoneus admitted, "although he's cute as a button. But I just can't see myself in the whole 'warrior companion' milieu. Way too butch for my tastes. No, I'm better off setting my sights on the wealthy Corinthian women that populate the town this time of year." He sighed dreamily before looking up with a cunning gleam in his eye. "I am, of course, not above some judicious flirting."

 

With a sly wink Salmoneus shuffled off to the prop closet to procure some acceptable footwear and Hercules and Iolaus were left on their own.

 

"Think we should run for it?" Iolaus suggested. He looked down at his own chest and shimmied, trying to assess the natural fall of the fabric. His shirt could not seem to decide whether or not to reveal his nipples and it was already getting irksome. He wished the shirt would just make up its mind.

 

Hercules shrugged and leaned back against the wall, amused by his partner's obsession with his neckline. "He'd only hunt us down again... or sell our clothes and skip town. Besides, Salmoneus may be right. We might need him to get into the palace without resorting to violence."

 

"Violence," mused Iolaus fondly, finally giving up on the shirt and going back to fussing with the constriction of his waistband. "I remember violence. Good times." He shoved a rack of tunics to the side so he could lean against the wall next to Hercules and issued a wistful sigh. "But now that we're highly-respected artists of the Symposia Erotica, I suppose we'll have to leave those reckless days in the past."

 

Hercules winced. "You seem to be taking all of this rather well, Iolaus. Aren't you the least bit mad at Salmoneus for pulling something like this? Don't you feel... exploited?"

 

Iolaus took a deep breath and turned to face his partner, his shoulder still leaning casually against the wall. "When I was in the East," he explained, "there was a really old monk named Ma-tsu that I used to train with. We met daily on a high hilltop where we could talk or spar or meditate surrounded completely by sky - he said the locale helped us to separate our minds from the tethers of the physical plane. One morning we were working on this move that I just couldn't seem to master and when I got really frustrated he stopped the lesson and said to me, 'Sometimes it is better to be the rock and let the river wash over you than to be the minnow and swim furiously against the current with no progress.'"

 

Knitting his brow, Hercules contemplated the old monk's words. "So what happened?" he asked. "Did that help you master the move?"

 

"Well, I dropped my guard and thought about what Ma-tsu had said, trying to figure out how I should apply his advice to my situation." He smiled faintly. "And then he kicked me in the head. Hard. I swear, his shinbone left a permanent dent in my skull."

 

Hercules was appalled. "Well what in Tartarus was that supposed to teach you?"

 

Iolaus laughed. "I think the lesson was that sometimes you're better off not thinking about things. But I never really appreciated what good advice that was until now."

 

Shaking his head, Hercules chuckled faintly and extended a hand to affectionately knead his partner's shoulder. After all their years together it amazed him that Iolaus still harbored stories that he hadn't heard. Equally astonishing was the fact that he fell for Iolaus' plot twists almost as often as he had when they were kids.

 

Iolaus smiled good-naturedly and reached over to straighten the uneven fall of Hercules' shirt against his chest. He flattened his hands against the impossibly soft silk, the fabric so thin that he could discern the distinctive texture of chest hair beneath it. That texture, familiar and evocative, served to tip the balance on the tenuous control Iolaus had been holding over his primal instincts. Something was affecting him, there was no question. He had sensed it, subtly at first, spurring his desires and lowering his inhibitions and though he had striven to maintain some level of decorum it was becoming more difficult by the moment.

 

One part of his brain objected, insisting that he and Hercules had to focus on the problem at hand, to learn who or what was abducting the citizens of Ganymede, but a larger part of his brain rationalized that they were just waiting around for Salmoneus anyway. It posed a powerful argument and, combined with the insistence of his body as it yearned towards the lithe muscles and heat of the demigod, it was nearly impossible to resist. Iolaus' eyes darted about the tiny dressing room, so crammed with racks of clothes that there was barely room to stand. He and Hercules were alone. What could be the harm?

 

Drawing a deeply contented breath, Iolaus began to slowly slide his palms along the contours of the firm chest and he felt Hercules' breath hitch in surprise. The motion of the demigod's fingers as they dug into his shoulder become more purposeful, emanating a penetrating warmth that, ironically, made him shiver. Hercules' thumb brushed tenderly across the side of his neck before finding purchase in the sinewy muscle just to the left of his windpipe and working its way in small circles up the base of his jaw.

 

Iolaus bowed his head forward to lean against Hercules' sternum, delighting in the contrast between flesh-covered bone and the more yielding musculature beneath his fingers. Selecting a mildly serpentine trajectory, he slid his hands to rest firmly against Hercules' hips and pulled him forward. The leather of their pants had been tanned and staked to perfection and, with the exception of the obvious constraints they placed on the anatomy, it felt as if they were pressed together skin against skin. Iolaus could feel Hercules, swiftly hardening, pushing against his abdomen and he shifted to provide additional pressure with his hipbone. Hercules gasped and gripped his shoulder more tightly, huge fingers digging into the bundles of knotted nerves made omnipresent by their chosen profession. The demigod's free hand wandered to the small of Iolaus' back, pausing briefly to pull him closer before sliding down to grip his ass. A moan of pleasure rose from the back of his throat.

 

The motion lifted Iolaus briefly off the ground and he lifted his eyes to meet his partner's, breath ragged with need. He slid his hands to grip the back of Hercules' legs, fingertips curling around to tease the sensitive skin of his inner thighs. Iolaus flitted his eyes suggestively to the left. "Wall," he pointed out.

 

Hercules narrowed his eyes and smiled. "Wall," he agreed.

 

In a swift, continuous motion, Hercules hefted Iolaus and spun sideways to pin his back against the wall. Iolaus' legs wrapped around the demigod's waist as he pressed forward, bracing his hips below Iolaus' buttocks to support his weight. He wasn't certain how Iolaus had managed to seduce him with such vicious efficiency and, frankly, he didn't care. He just wanted to enjoy it. Hercules growled, running his tongue along the contour of Iolaus' collarbone before forcefully nuzzling his throat, the skin immediately reddening under the onslaught of abrasive stubble. Unable to resist the temptation, he placed a zealous bite at the base of Iolaus' shoulder, delighting at the sensation of his body arching beneath him in response.

 

Iolaus braced his elbows against Hercules' shoulders and tried not to lose himself completely in the fierce ardor of the demigod's teeth. He tightened the grip of his thighs around Hercules' waist, and hooked his heels between his legs, forcing them further apart until he found the ideal position. Even through two layers of leather he could feel Hercules' shaft pushing insistently against his ass, while his own pressed into the bare skin of Hercules' stomach. Using both the wall and Hercules' shoulders for leverage he began to shift his hips in a steady rhythm. The angle was perfect, allowing him to generate enough friction to stimulate them both. Feeling no desire to delay the inevitable, Iolaus increased his pace, offering a ragged, breathless laugh as he heard Hercules' breath catch in his throat.

 

Too distracted to continue his attentions to Iolaus' neck and shoulders, Hercules threw his head back and abandoned all control to the thrall of his partner's dizzying pace. He tried to hold back, to prolong the exquisite sensation as long as possible but the intoxicating smell of hot sweat, saltier than usual from their exposure to the ocean breeze, was swiftly draining his will. Moments later his self-control gave out and he came with a long, desperate growl which soon mingled with the familiar sound of Iolaus' sharp expulsion of breath followed by quiet, satisfied laughter. Panting furiously but careful not to drop his partner, Hercules let his head fall forward to nestle against Iolaus' neck.

 

Elbows still braced on the demigod's shoulders, Iolaus clasped his hands together, resting his chin against the back of his partner's bowed head. His eyes closed against the world, Iolaus listened with contentment as his ragged breathing phased in and out of sync with his partner's as his heart rate gradually returned to normal. Vaguely, he wondered whether it would be himself or Hercules that would ultimately break the mood by asking, "How in Tartarus did that just happen?" but his musing was made instantly moot by the jarring sound of slow, measured applause coming from the doorway.

 

Instantly, he felt a startled Hercules jump backwards and was overwhelmingly thankful that he had the presence of mind to relax the grip of his legs and slide harmlessly to the floor before his skull was peremptorily introduced to the unyielding stone of the dressing room wall.

 

The source of the applause, naturally, was Salmoneus, who leaned casually against the door jamb, not the least bit fazed by what by all rights ought to have been an intensely awkward situation. Of course, Iolaus mused, his current expression might be somewhat different if he were able to see Hercules' face. His back to the doorway, the demigod's eyes flashed murderously and Iolaus was forced to suppress his inclination to laugh as Salmoneus, unaware of the volatility of Hercules' temper when his post-coital relaxation was disrupted, unabashedly strolled into the room.

 

"And you two claimed you didn't have time to rehearse," Salmoneus chided smugly. "Excellent work, really. Frottage is making a really big comeback, I hear. And I like the growling - definitely keep that - but that little back-of-the-throat, whiny, pleading noise one of you was making has got to go. There's just no way that sound will carry with the lousy acoustics in the..."

 

"Sal," interrupted Hercules darkly. His clenched fists rested firmly against the wall.

 

"Be the rock," Iolaus whispered. He glanced beyond his partner to where Salmoneus stood smirking self-complacently, thoroughly unaware that he was in mortal peril, and considered that he would almost certainly come to regret stepping in to rescue him.

 

Hercules closed his eyes and took a few long, steadying breaths. When he finally spoke his voice was low and measured and he did so without turning around. "Is there someplace where we could go and wash up?"

 

"Ah... sure," Salmoneus replied, the smug smile finally falling from his face. At last, it seemed, he was registering the demigod's displeasure. "There's a basin in the other dressing room." A weak and short-lived smile flickered across his face.

 

Without further response, Hercules left the room, brushing briskly past Salmoneus as he departed. Iolaus followed close behind but paused at the doorway for a moment to regard the puzzled merchant, who seemed thoroughly insensible of the fact that any of his behavior might be construed as out of character or inappropriate. Crass as he could sometimes be, Salmoneus was by no means insensitive to propriety and Iolaus concluded that his actions must be a result of the same influence that had been affecting himself and Hercules. Whatever was manipulating them was somehow connected to the town itself and seemed to be controlling everyone in it. Salmoneus, who had been in Ganymede for at least a week, failed to show even a hint of internal struggle over his conduct and Iolaus wondered grimly whether his prolonged exposure had rendered him oblivious to his unusual behavior. With a pensive shake of his head, Iolaus patted the merchant on the shoulder and said, "I'd better go get cleaned up," as he quietly left the room

 

"While you're doing that," a clueless Salmoneus called brightly after him, "I'll pick out your accessories."

 

*  
*  
*

 

Once Hercules and Iolaus had washed up and the demigod had subjected his partner to an extended tirade over the lack of respect of privacy exhibited by certain merchants, the degeneration of the moral fabric of Greece in the post-Trojan War era, and the misplaced self-importance and presumption of pretty boy nouveau-immortals who wouldn't be anything today if they had something more worthwhile to do than prance around on hilltops near Mt. Olympus advertising themselves as a nice piece of ass, they set out for the palace. Salmoneus scurried behind them, issuing an ineffectual string of objections over their refusal to take the time to accessorize. The sun was now at its apex and it blazed down upon the subdued vacationers as they emerged onto balconies and sat at outdoor cafes, toying with their breakfasts rather than eating them and following the progress of the sparse travelers on Zeus Way with bloodshot eyes.

 

It was despairingly hot but Hercules found himself rather comfortable in his new vestments. Although the form-fitting pants were significantly tighter than the ones he usually wore, they were constructed of a thinner, more pliable variety of leather that made them remarkably unconstrictive. The shirt, sleeveless, open to the navel and cut low under the arms, was made of a delicate, airy material that billowed pleasantly in the breeze. And as much as he had complained about the night-black boots with their unnecessarily ornate gold detailing and shameful lack of traction, they were certainly much lighter than the sturdy traveling boots he was accustomed to.

 

All in all, the ensemble was eminently well suited to the climate. In fact, Hercules' only immediate discomfort stemmed from the fact that when he looked over at Iolaus he could clearly see the outlines of his leg muscles, enticingly apparent beneath the skin-like material. Not only did Iolaus' excruciatingly revealing pants inspire a wealth of salacious thoughts in his determined-to-be aroused brain, they presented Hercules with the realization that he, too, must be exposing himself to a far greater degree than had been noticeable in the dim lighting of the theater dressing room.

 

And then, of course, there was the additional embarrassment associated with Salmoneus' advertisement fliers, which populated what seemed like every open surface in the city. When they had initially set out and he saw that the presence of the horrific images was not limited to the theater itself, Hercules had stormed over to a cafe that bore at least half a dozen of the things in succession and torn them all down. Unfortunately, his outburst had the unexpected effect of attracting a small crowd of admirers who whooped in encouragement and chanted at Iolaus to spank the "naughty demigod" for what he had done.

 

As they pushed their way back through the fanatical crowd, Salmoneus had explained that the onlookers had probably just thought it was a publicity stunt and Hercules resigned himself to the notion that simply ignoring the problem was likely be the most painless tactic. Unfortunately, Iolaus was too fascinated by the mind-boggling abundance of the posters to comply with his plan.

 

"There's millions of those things," he remarked, looking in awe at the balcony of a tavern that was completely covered. "They weren't here this morning. How'd you get so many so fast?"

 

Salmoneus grinned immodestly, admiring his handiwork. "It's the latest in wood-block printing technology," he boasted. "Very new. Very hip. And I've got a great publicity staff."

 

"And where is this fabled staff now?" Hercules grouched. "If they managed to put up all of these posters then they can get there asses over here and take them down again." Encountering parchment after parchment depicting himself and Iolaus entwined in an erotic, if physically impossible, position was certainly not helping him to recover from his aggravation with Salmoneus. Nor was it making it easier for him to concentrate on how to handle their impending confrontation with Ganymede. The net result was an unduly irritable demigod.

 

"Sorry," Salmoneus shrugged sheepishly, eyes widening at the sharpness of the Hercules' tone. "They're off the payroll now. They *were* your supporting cast but I had to axe them after the latest script restructuring."

 

"Great," Hercules snorted caustically.

 

"So why the big change, Sal?" Iolaus asked, offering his partner a consolatory pat on the rear, which titillated the dozen or so ogling onlookers. "I'm surprised that a writer of your incredible talent was willing to compromise his artistic vision."

 

If Salmoneus perceived that Iolaus' remark was laden with sarcasm, he did an excellent job of concealing the fact. "Well," he said, "sometimes it can't be helped. My backers had a few little nitpicks with the script."

 

Iolaus laughed. "They hated it, eh?"

 

"I believe 'steaming pile of harpy excrement' was the choice phrase they employed." He shrugged. "So we took the project in another direction. Frankly, I'm fine with it. After all, it's what the people are asking for. A successful writer/director/producer is never afraid to adjust his vision to accommodate the shifting whim of the paying public."

 

"In other words: sell-out."

 

Raising his eyebrows, Salmoneus drew himself up haughtily. "I realize that you meant that as an insult, Iolaus, but what about me would ever imply to you that I would take it as one?"

 

Hercules chuckled at this, exhibiting the first genuine mirth since they had discovered Salmoneus' repulsive banner, and grinned down at his partner. "He's got a point there, you know."

 

Iolaus rolled his eyes and glowered up at Hercules. "Whose side are you on, anyway?"

 

A few paces ahead, Salmoneus halted abruptly. They had reached the base of the mountain where Zeus Way, having tapered off into a narrow path outside the main commercial district, climbed up the cliff face as a twisting, stone staircase. There was insufficient room for them to walk abreast so they were obligated to travel single file. The salesman was very insistent that he lead the way because he was the only one with the connections that could possibly gain them admittance to the palace. He drew a deep breath. "Here goes nothing," he said.

 

They ascended the steps to the palace in silence, each man taking the opportunity to gather his thoughts. Bringing up the rear, Hercules had to devote particular effort to keeping his eyes away from the back of Iolaus' pants and was thankful for the sudden distraction as an eagle - the same one he had rescued that morning by the looks of it - swooped down upon them in a noisy flutter of wings. The bird twisted and dodged around them as they climbed, eliciting a startled shriek from Salmoneus on its initial descent. The noise of its wings as they flapped against the mountain air was strangely amplified as it echoed off of the close-set cliffs to either side. As they progressed further up the mountain the eagle calmed somewhat but hovered over Hercules uncertainly before finally coming to a decision and swooping back upwards towards the palace. It alit on a broad marble banister a few stories up and continued to survey their approach from on high.

 

As they arrived at the towering doorway that lead to Ganymede's stronghold in the mortal realm, Salmoneus fussed nervously with his robes, turning away to rub a finger vigorously against his teeth. Hercules and Iolaus waited patiently, if dubiously, a few steps below. The former was poised, in the interest of time, to tear the huge door off of its hinges; the latter was poised, in the interest of diplomacy, to stop him.

 

At length the door slot clanked open and the suspicious eyes of a guard appeared as the salesman donned his most winning smile. "Get lost, Salmoneus," the guard spat and immediately withdrew, slamming the slot closed again.

 

Hercules and Iolaus exchanged a pained look as Salmoneus glanced back at them with a shrug of astonishment and turned to pound his fist against the door. "Ziliaris! Open up!" he demanded.

 

Slowly, the slot reopened and the suspicious eyes reemerged, glaring peevishly. "You'd better get out of here," Ziliaris warned. "The Empress is still furious over those so-called silken robes you sold him."

 

Salmoneus raised his eyebrows in affront. "I clearly stated that those robes were 'Silkeen,'" he corrected. "It's a silk substitute that may not be as soft or as durable but is much more cost effective to manufacture."

 

Instantly, the slot slammed closed again.

 

Turning back to his companions, Salmoneus shrugged innocently and rolled his eyes.

 

"'The Empress?'" Hercules inquired in a hushed tone.

 

"That would be Ganymede." Salmoneus shook his head in weary contempt. "The guards and servants call him that sometimes... you know, when he gets in one of his moods." He laughed caustically. "You guys picked a good day to visit him."

 

With a huffy sigh, he turned back towards the door and pounded on it violently. "Open up!"

 

Ziliaris appeared again, clearly irritated. "Scram," he insisted.

 

"Where's Oraios?" Salmoneus demanded. "He always did have more sense than you."

 

The guard laughed bitterly. "Your boyfriend, you mean? He didn't bother to show up this morning. If you're *so* anxious to find him, perhaps you should check your bedchamber."

 

"Wait!" Iolaus cried before Ziliaris could slam the slot closed again, pushing past Salmoneus to address the guard directly. "This Oraios: was he young? Seventeen or so?"

 

"Nineteen," replied Ziliaris suspiciously. "Why?"

 

"A slim build with dark hair and olive skin?"

 

"Yes." The guard looked from Iolaus to Salmoneus and back again. "How did you know?"

 

"Because I saw him," Iolaus said. "This morning. At the lagoon. He was... taken."

 

The eyes widened and looked to Salmoneus for confirmation but the merchant was too busy gaping at Iolaus to pay him any mind. "That was *my* Oraios at the beach this morning?" he demanded, glaring first at Iolaus and then at Hercules accusingly. "Why didn't you tell me?"

 

The affronted expression on Salmoneus' face overshot the frayed end of Hercules' increasingly short rope. "How were we supposed to know?" He barked, climbing to share Salmoneus' step so that he towered menacingly above him. "You've been concerned with nothing but our wardrobe and our sex life since we ran into you this morning. At what juncture were we supposed to figure out that the boy we tried and failed to save at the beach - who you, incidentally, did not bother to ask about - was the same one you claim not to be interested in?" He folded his arms. "Please. Enlighten us."

 

Salmoneus stuttered incoherently at this outburst but Ziliaris, whose eyes widened with amazement, exclaimed "Great Zeus, it's you!" His gaze wandered back to Iolaus and his distinctive blond tresses. "It's both of you!" Immediately, the guard disappeared behind the panel and there were several resonating clunks as the huge door was unbolted from within. Finally it swung open to reveal an extremely tall and lanky youth who could not have been more than twenty. His jet black hair was slicked fastidiously against his scalp and his dark eyes sparkled with admiration.

 

"We're all big fans of yours here at the palace, Hercules," Ziliaris gushed, fidgeting carelessly with his tall spear. "You too, Iolaus. Especially Oraios and me... and the Empress of course." He rolled his eyes in what might easily have been an involuntary reaction to the utterance of his master's alias.

 

"Really," replied Hercules dubiously, brushing past Salmoneus to stand where he could rest a casual elbow on Iolaus' shoulder. "I never realized that Ganymede had an appreciation for the hero business."

 

Clearing his throat awkwardly, Ziliaris frowned and glanced to the side. "Er... Well, actually he's a bit more taken with... Ah... that other thing." He winced as he lifted his gaze from the floor. "He's been talking about nothing else since the banner went up yesterday afternoon."

 

Hercules remained expressionless, responding only with a subdued, "Oh."

 

"But not us," the boy clarified. "Oraios and me, we admire you for all the great deeds that you've done. We want to be just like you someday - traveling from town to town, helping the less fortunate." He blushed sheepishly. "We're not really qualified for the monster-killing yet but we thought maybe we could start out by helping little kids that had fallen into wells and work our way up from there."

 

The demigod raised his eyebrows and glanced down at Iolaus, who stifled a smile as if there were something inherently funny about two young men roaming around Greece looking for children at the bottom of wells. Unlike his partner, however, Hercules was determined to be sensitive. "That's a very admirable dream," he commented with a polite smile.

 

Ziliaris grinned and stepped to the side, gesturing them indoors with a sweep of his hand. "Please come in," he said. "The Empress will be delighted to see you. He's got to be your greatest fan."

 

With a friendly nod and a hint of amusement still playing about his lips, Iolaus strode forward into the large and sunny atrium within. Hercules followed close behind, smiling obligingly at the young guard as he passed him and trying desperately to neither resent nor appreciate the fact that, regardless of the guard's opinion, it was assuredly Ganymede's interest in his and Iolaus' "talents" that had gained them admittance to the palace. Before he could dwell on this dilemma, however, his thoughts were interrupted by the clang of Ziliaris' spear against the heavy, silver door.

 

"Not you," he snarled as Salmoneus stepped up to the threshold. The amiable youth had once again reverted to the persona of surly gatekeeper with which he had greeted them.

 

Wringing his hands nervously, Salmoneus looked up at the guard in confusion. "But... Oraios..." he said, brow furrowed with concern for his non-love interest, "I need to find out what happened to him."

 

"Well you can ask him when he gets back," Ziliaris barked. "But I've had strict instructions that if you ever set foot in this palace again it'll be your balls and my head. And since I suspect that you've already sold your balls to some poor, unsuspecting consumer I wouldn't even be able to enjoy the grim pleasure of your castration during my final mortal moments. So no thank you. Get lost." He stood resolutely in front of the door, arms folded.

 

Salmoneus leaned sideways to look past the gangly barricade and fix Hercules and Iolaus with a pleading, pathetic expression.

 

"Sorry, Sal," Iolaus shrugged, narrowing his eyes as Ziliaris muttered something inaudible but clearly menacing, "but rules are rules. Don't worry, we'll find out what happened to him."

 

The salesman frowned, sensible enough not to needle Hercules for special treatment at this particular juncture. He looked up hopefully. "Is there anything I can do in the meantime?"

 

"Yes," said Hercules definitively, striding over to the door and gripping the edge. "Take the advertisements down." At that he slammed the door on a surprised Salmoneus and took a deep, cleansing breath, turning back to his partner with a satisfied smile. "That felt really good," he declared.

 

Iolaus eyed him dubiously. "When, exactly, did you get to be so petty?"

 

Draping a heavy arm across his shoulders, Hercules looked down at Iolaus unapologetically. "The same day I became the leading man in a porneion floor show." He turned his eyes expectantly towards Ziliaris and gestured towards a nearby doorway, the only apparent route to the interior of the palace. "Shall we?"

 

The young guard, obviously flabbergasted that anyone else's irritation with Salmoneus could surpass his own, just nodded obediently and hustled to open the door for the palace's unlikely guests.

 

*  
*  
*

 

Once they had departed the atrium and were comfortably en route to wherever it was that Ganymede greeted his favorite performance artists and nude revue participants, Iolaus decided to broach the topic that had been weighing on his mind since they entered the palace.

 

"So," he said casually, trotting to catch up to Ziliaris, who strode dutifully a few paces in front of them, "it sounds like you and your friend Oraios are pretty close."

 

"Oh yes," he confirmed. "We're best friends. Like you guys." He glanced back at Hercules with a friendly smile. "Only with out the..." Ziliaris frowned, unable to muster the appropriate words.

 

"Burgeoning careers in the entertainment industry?" Iolaus suggested.

 

The boy nodded in embarrassment.

 

"You're welcome to ours," Hercules muttered. He had been so quiet and furtive that Iolaus hadn't even realized he was paying attention.

 

Laughing uncomfortably and briefly, Ziliaris turned back towards Iolaus, who eyed him with an appraising frown.

 

"So you claim that you two are best friends," he repeated.

 

Ziliaris nodded.

 

Iolaus frowned and looked back at his partner, who shook his head with a grim scowl. He exhaled sharply and gazed up at the lanky youth, who was almost a full head taller than Hercules himself. "Did you not hear us when we said that your friend was taken?"

 

Another nod. "Oh yes. And it was quite a relief, I can tell you. I'd been cursing him all morning for blowing off work. And, see, he was supposed to go visit Salmoneus last night and I was kind of worried that... " He paused, his expression that of a man with a horrible taste in his mouth. "Let's just say I'm the jealous type."

 

"But you're not worried now?" Iolaus asked, wondering whether losing one's lover to the clutches of an unknown menace should really be considered preferable to losing him to Salmoneus.

 

"Of course not."

 

"Do you even...?" Iolaus narrowed his eyes and turned to address Hercules, who plodded behind them in silence. "Does he even know what 'taken' means?"

 

Hercules offered a defeated shrug. "Do *we* know what it means?"

 

"I *thought* we did." He looked at the boy skeptically. "Would you care to clue us in? Being taken *is* a *bad* thing, isn't it?"

 

Ziliaris paused, turning to face his inquisitors. They had emerged into a wide, sunny courtyard and had been strolling within one of the twin breezeways that ran perpendicular to the face of the mountain, which could be seen soaring above the flawless marble of the palace's tiered roof. He scanned the courtyard suspiciously and while there was clearly no one else present, he jerked his head towards a small alcove recessed into the wall a few paces away.

 

Eyebrows raised and interest piqued, Hercules and Iolaus obligingly followed the guard into the tiny room.

 

"The thing is," Ziliaris whispered once they were all crammed inside, "is that you're right. Being taken isn't exactly a day at the Circus Maximus. But Oraios... He was taken, but he wasn't *taken* taken."

 

Iolaus cast a quick sideways glance at Hercules on the off-chance that this had made some sort of sense to him. Not surprisingly, he immediately looked to the boy for further elucidation. "But he was still taken."

 

"Yep."

 

"You don't seem that surprised."

 

"Of course not," Ziliaris laughed. "I knew he was planning to do it. He just didn't tell me it was going to be today." He paused for a few moments before adding in a woeful tone, "I wish he would have warned me - I could have brought some scrolls to read." He leaned forward conspiratorially and confessed, "It's damn boring being a palace guard with no one to talk to."

 

A quick perusal of his confidantes revealed to Ziliaris that they were not wholly satisfied with his explanation. After a moment's consideration, he repeated, "Because Oraios wasn't *taken* taken. He just wanted to talk."

 

"To whom?" Hercules, whose weary frustration with the nonsensical situation might easily have been interpreted as disinterest, now leaned forward curiously.

 

Ziliaris blinked. "To his uncle, of course." At the lack of enlightened response he astutely elaborated. "To Poseidon."

 

*  
*  
*

 

"Poseidon," Hercules repeated, expelling a sharp breath. Mindless of their companion he glared at Iolaus, who frowned contemplatively. "Poseidon. That's just great."

 

Eyes narrowed, Iolaus returned his gaze. They engaged in a protracted but unspoken exchange that was sadly inconclusive. Ziliaris looked on, clearly aware that he was missing out on the most interesting part of the conversation but too prudent to interrupt. It wasn't until their locked gaze broke and Hercules pursed his lips, squinting out at the courtyard, while Iolaus rolled his eyes and flopped back against the alcove wall, nearly upsetting a vase in the process, that the guard finally spoke.

 

"I'm confused," he declared, at which both warriors scoffed. "You mean, you guys didn't already know about Poseidon? About his involvement in this whole situation?"

 

"We don't even know what the situation is," Hercules reported wearily.

 

"So you're not here as emissaries?"

 

"For Poseidon?" Iolaus snapped. "Hardly." He was distinctly un-enthralled with the prospect of Poseidon's involvement in whatever was going on. It was no coincidence that, among those in the know, Poseidon was the most feared of the three brothers that shared the sovereignty of heaven and earth. Where Hades was clerical and Zeus was philandering, Poseidon was just plain mean.

 

"No," Ziliaris replied, blinking perplexedly at Hercules. "For Zeus." He frowned. "So you really have no idea what's going on?"

 

"We've only been here one day," Iolaus snapped defensively. He slumped against the wall, almost upsetting the same vase again. Grumbling to himself, he steadied the no-doubt priceless object - a red-figure depiction of an orgy of satyrs - and squeezed past Ziliaris to stand next to Hercules on the other side of the alcove, as far as he could get from tacky, easily shattered accent pieces. He was already weary of having to be the rational one in the face of Hercules' surliness over Salmoneus' artistic venture, and the announcement that he and his partner were most likely going to have to face off against Zeus *and* Poseidon did little for his determination. He quit. Either Hercules would have to start being his usual, diplomatic self or they would both just have to be jerks.

 

Fortunately for all involved, the revelation of these potentially dire circumstances had done a great deal to push Hercules' irritation with Salmoneus to the back of his mind. He laid a sympathetic hand on Iolaus' shoulder and addressed Ziliaris gently. "As my partner said, we just got here. We weren't even aware of the disappearances until this morning. That's why we came to this palace - to find out what's been happening."

 

"And stop it," Iolaus added darkly.

 

"I'm terribly sorry," the guard stammered. "Because of your connection to Zeus I just assumed..."

 

Hercules waved away the apology. It was easy to forget sometimes that the rest of Greece was not necessarily aware of the rather... distant... relationship he shared with his father. He recalled the unusual conversation they had had with the barmaid, Muriel, that morning. She also had implied that he and Iolaus had come to Ganymede as the envoys of someone else. Could she have made the same assumption as the guard? And if so, was there a connection? He frowned. Like everything else in this strange affair, the answer was unclear. "Look," he told Ziliaris, "any information you could give us would be really helpful."

 

"Well," he replied uncertainly, "I really don't like to gossip..."

 

"Out with it," Iolaus snapped.

 

"Well I'm not rightly sure," Ziliaris admitted, fiddling awkwardly with his spear. "I... there's been this feud. Between Zeus and Poseidon. I don't know what it's about but it's been going on for months, I understand. Mind you, everything I know is second hand: overheard from the Empress or tidbits that Oraios picked up from talking to his uncle. But a couple of weeks ago it escalated. People started disappearing from the lagoon and turning up again a day or so later. Around the same time, the Empress stopped going to Olympus to pour wine for the gods. He says he can't go..."

 

Iolaus raised his eyebrows at this, eyes flitting instinctively to the welts on Hercules' forehead. "Did he say why?"

 

The guard shook his head vigorously, his well-secured hair remaining faithfully un-mussed. "No. He just loafs around the palace bitching about his sad fate and generally making life a living Tartarus for the day staff." He lowered his voice secretively. "There's nothing more aggravating than having to pander to a bored drama queen."

 

"Anything else?" Hercules leaned forward, frowning pensively as he tried to process this new information.

 

Ziliaris sighed. "Yeah, but don't get mad."

 

Iolaus' eyes darkened at this but Hercules smiled at the boy encouragingly. "Go ahead," he said.

 

"The thing is," he began, dropping his eyes guiltily. "About the same time the disappearances started, Oraios began acting strangely - he used to tell me absolutely everything but he kind of just closed up. All he could talk about was how things had gotten out of hand and he had to figure out a way to make them right." He glanced up briefly at the two heroes and then looked back at the floor. "So that's when we thought of you. Oraios was certain that the legendary Hercules and Iolaus would be able to fix everything... and then Salmoneus showed up and boasted that he knew you and... well, the whole plan seemed to fall into place."

 

"The plan?" Hercules was certain he didn't like where this was going.

 

"See, Salmoneus clearly fancied Oraios. So, Oraios, he kind of turned on the charm - he can be *very* charming when he tries to be - and convinced him to invite you here." He swallowed uncomfortably, wincing as he uttered his succeeding words. "To be in his play."

 

Hercules pressed his lips together, mustering his patience, but Iolaus laughed in disbelief. "So we have *you* to thank for this dubious honor, do we?"

 

Ziliaris was quick to respond. "We had no idea it was going to be *that* kind of a play," he insisted. "I swear! Oraios was supposed to go talk to you today before our shift and apologize and explain everything, but I guess he decided to have a talk with his uncle first." He frowned, worry washing over his sharp features. "He really should be back by now. I can't imagine what could be keeping him."

 

"We'll do our best to find out," Hercules assured him gently. "But for the moment, I think you'd better take us to see Ganymede."

 

The guard nodded glumly and, rubbing his eyes free of welling moisture, strode out into the courtyard.

 

Hercules and Iolaus followed a few paces behind, conferring quietly.

 

"What do you make of it?" Iolaus furrowed his brow as he watched the over-exaggerated stiffness of Ziliaris' gate, the mark of a guard trying far too hard to be professional about his duties.

 

"I'm not sure," the demigod replied, "but at least we're finally getting somewhere. Let's wait and see what Ganymede has to say. There's got to be a *reason* that the fallout from Zeus and Poseidon's feud is concentrated on this particular town and I'll wager that Ganymede is it."

 

*  
*  
*

 

When they reached the far end of the courtyard, Ziliaris led them up an ornately sculpted marble staircase and then back along the balcony which overlooked the courtyard from the second floor. From above it was much easier to appreciate the fastidiously manicured flowerbeds, an explosion of color that seemed to glimmer in the cloud-diffused sunlight. The delicate aromas mixed in perfect compliment as they filtered into the upper stories and became entrapped in the still air beneath the marble that sheltered the step-ladder of layered balconies. It was not difficult to believe that the palace, with its simple elegance, was the haven of a powerfully-connected immortal.

 

Upon returning to the seaward edge of the courtyard, Ziliaris paused in front of a set of doors, intricately carved in swirled Ionic patterns, and looked back at Hercules and Iolaus, speaking for the first time since they had abandoned the privacy of the garden-level alcove. "Wait here," he instructed, "and brace yourselves."

 

Taking a deep breath, he swung the door open and stepped boldly through it. From within there rose an excited squeal.

 

"Ziliaris! You've arrived just in time for I am bored to absolute *tears*. Dance for me." The command was issued in a bright, effeminate drawl. "Let's see that skinny little booty of yours shake!"

 

Ziliaris cleared his throat. "Actually, Ganymede, I've come..."

 

"Actually WHO?!" the voice demanded in an affronted whine.

 

The guard sighed wearily. "Actually, Your Fabulousness, I've come to announce some visitors. May I present Hercules and Iolaus." He leaned back from the door and beckoned the two heroes inside.

 

Exchanging a pained expression, Hercules and Iolaus stepped forward and were immediately greeted with an excited gasp. They were standing on a wide patio elegantly furnished with luxuriantly cushioned sofas, small tables, and an exquisite, velvet fainting couch. In the corner stood a slender, androgynous servant with a number of carafes arranged on a silver tray and the now-familiar golden eagle sat perched comfortably nearby. But the most eye-catching feature of the patio was inarguably the stunningly handsome blond, garbed in flowing, gold-trimmed robes, who leaned against the marble balustrade wearing a dazzling smile of abject delight. Behind him the red-stained rooftops of Ganymede sloped down to the sparkling sapphire waters of the lagoon but the beauty of the landscape, frankly, was no comparison.

 

"Well buy me a purse and call me Persephone!" Ganymede exclaimed as he caught sight of his guests. "If it isn't my very, very favorite pair of performance artists!" He sashayed forward and greeted them both with a kiss to each cheek, a gesture they received with a somewhat stiff and awkward acquiescence. Hercules, in particular, took pride in the fact that he managed to accept the kisses without flinching as if they had scalded him.

 

Drawing away from them to get a better look, Ganymede's broad smile flickered faintly as his eyes fell upon Hercules' battered forehead and Iolaus' unkempt hair and stubble. He muttered something about the wonders of stage make-up and gestured at one of the sofas as Ziliaris curtly excused himself. "Nice pants, though," he added. "Wine?"

 

Although he had tried to prepare for the experience, Iolaus found himself regarding their host with fascination as he sank into the cushions of the nearest sofa and absently accepted the goblet proffered by the servant. It was easy to see how Zeus had become so taken with the former prince, fatuous though he certainly was. His facial features were chiseled into the classic depiction of Grecian beauty, stunningly appealing without being overly feminine. He was taller and more muscular that Iolaus would have predicted, a far cry from the boyish youth described by the bards. His medium-cropped hair framed his face in immaculate ringlets and he wore a circlet of red-berried holly, adopting a tradition of attire rarely followed by immortals in recent years. The looked suited him well, bringing out the vivid hues of his emerald eyes.

 

Well pleased with Iolaus' obvious appreciation, Ganymede reclined grandly across the fainting couch, accepting a small glass of clear liquid from his servant before shooing him across the patio to see to Hercules. The demigod accepted a goblet of wine and took a seat next to Iolaus, pinching him hard in the shoulder.

 

"Ow!" Iolaus grabbed his shoulder and looked sharply at Hercules, who lifted his eyebrows and inclined his head towards Ganymede. Momentarily confused, Iolaus glanced at the immortal and then back at his partner before the admonition set in. "Oh," he muttered. "Sorry."

 

"So," Ganymede began once he had finished being thoroughly delighted by his guests' mildly contentious exchange, "to what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?" He smiled sultrily and took a small sip of his drink.

 

Hercules leaned forward. He was having a difficult time getting comfortable in the deep cushions of the sofa. "We're here to talk to you about what's been going on with Poseidon."

 

Ganymede's face contorted into a pouty scowl. "Oh, no," he lamented. "Zeus didn't send you here, did he? Because that's just sad. If he wants to apologize he should come and do it himself. Preferably in something pretty and tight-fitting."

 

"Of course Zeus didn't send us," Iolaus said, laying a steadying hand on Hercules' knee as he shifted irritably next to him. "You're the one who's... friends with him. Why would he need to use us as mediators?"

 

Throwing his head back in bright laughter, Ganymede took another sip of his drink. "Because he's *desperately* in love with me, the poor kitten."

 

Iolaus furrowed his brow as Hercules downed his wine. "Zeus is?"

 

Ganymede rolled his eyes. "Well of *course* Zeus is," he declared, shaking his head at Iolaus pitifully. "I mean, I may not be an alabaster-skinned, red-headed little trollop like *some* people but..." He stopped, his eyes wide with agitation, and threw back the rest of his glass, snapping for the servant to refill it. When he had a fresh drink and had taken a few breaths to calm himself he continued. "...but I still have plenty of charms to recommend me, I assure you. No, I was referring to Poseidon."

 

"Poseidon?" Hercules set down his goblet on a nearby table and stared at Ganymede, wide-eyed. "Poseidon is in love with you?"

 

"And why shouldn't he be?" Ganymede demanded, eyes flashing. "I just happen to be extraordinarily handsome and - as of recently - eminently eligible. But he just can't seem to take the hint that he's not my type... Not that Zeus would listen when I told him that, of course. He flew into a jealous rage and forbade Poseidon from coming near me." He leaned forward to address Hercules darkly. "Your father can be a total bitch sometimes, you know that?"

 

As Hercules was too busy investigating the wine goblet that the servant had swooped in and refilled to respond, Iolaus answered on his behalf. "Yeah," he muttered. "I think he's aware." He paused, watching Ganymede as he slumped huffily back against the couch. "Is that why you're not pouring wine on Olympus right now?" he asked. "Because you're angry with Zeus?"

 

"Please, honey," Ganymede rolled his eyes. "Little tiffs may come and go, but the gods will *always* need their potent potables. Believe me, if it was in my power to be on Olympus right now I would."

 

"You *can't* go there?" asked Iolaus curiously. While he was already aware of this fact from their conversation with Ziliaris, he theorized that Ganymede would be more likely to be forthcoming if he feigned ignorance. "Why not?"

 

Ganymede shrugged, rolling his eyes melodramatically to the heavens. "I haven't the faintest idea. I thought at first that it was some ploy of Zeus' to get me to take him back but... rumor has it he's been too distracted recently to think about little old me." He gripped a velvet pillow and narrowed his eyes angrily. "Maybe I *should* take up with Poseidon," he seethed. Across the patio the eagle became suddenly agitated, flapping its wings furiously, but it did not take to the sky. Once the bird's tantrum had died down, Ganymede continued. "That would certainly show him. If Zeus thinks he can just boss me around, he's got another think coming, missy. I mean, what has he ever done for *me*?"

 

"Immortality?" suggested Iolaus. "This town? This palace?"

 

"Oh, well, sure, I suppose. If you want to be *technical* about it. But he just doesn't spend quality time with me like he used to." He pouted and polished off the rest of his drink, waving the servant away with a tragic expression when he approached to refill it. "I mean, sure, he has plenty of time for a booty call every other night but can he just *once* stop by in the afternoon and help me pick out new curtains for the parlor? Nooooooooo!"

 

"So is it or isn't it Zeus that's keeping you off of Olympus," inquired Hercules, anxious to get back to the problem at hand and away from the topic of his father's many shortcomings as a boyfriend.

 

"Oh, it's not just Olympus," Ganymede corrected. "It would be one thing if this were just a forced vacation. I'd've gone on holiday... toured the islands... seduced many a nubile young serving boy on the continent to the south... But I'm stuck here. In this town. It's surrounded by some sort of horrid invisible barrier." He sighed and fussed with his curls. "I'm a kept man, so to speak."

 

The immortal gave a coy giggle at this last remark and in the corner the servant rolled his eyes irritably. He had obviously heard that joke far too often over the last couple of weeks.

 

"So you know about the barrier?" asked Iolaus, glancing at the welts on his partner's forehead.

 

"But of course I do," Ganymede laughed. "I make it a point to pay close attention to everything that goes on in this town. We're *all* stuck here, I imagine. I'm surprised there hasn't been a bigger uproar about it."

 

"Well, actually..." Iolaus began, only to be interrupted by Hercules.

 

"What about the disappearances," the demigod asked. "What can you tell us about them?"

 

Ganymede batted his eyelashes innocently. "The what?"

 

"The..." Annoyed, Hercules was about to elaborate but the perplexed expression on Ganymede's face revealed that he was genuinely unaware that young men and women had been vanishing from his town. "Never mind."

 

With a wistful sigh, Ganymede nodded. He rose his glass to his lips and was immediately irritated to find it empty. Scowling, he barked at his servant, who hastened over to provide a refill.

 

"Well, we'd better be going," Hercules announced, rising abruptly and pulling Iolaus up by the collar of his exquisitely tailored shirt.

 

Iolaus glared up at his partner, lifting his wine goblet to indicate the shameful offense of almost having spilled it. The demigod cocked his eyebrow as Iolaus brought the glass to his lips, closing his eyes in pleasure as he drained it. A sheen of the heady liquid still coated his lips as he bent to set the goblet down but refrained from breaking eye contact. Unable to stop himself, Hercules stepped forward and slipped a hand into Iolaus' curls. Grinning at the ridiculous facility with which he had been able to tempt his partner, Iolaus smiled and allowed himself to be drawn into Hercules' arms. Hercules leaned forward and, leading with a dart of his tongue that divested the layer of wine from Iolaus' lips, lost himself in a passionate kiss.

 

Almost immediately, this brief moment of intimacy was shattered by a squeal of delight from Ganymede. "Oooh!" he exclaimed. "A preview!"

 

Hercules drew abruptly away from Iolaus, as if startled out of a dream, and flushed hotly. Rolling his eyes at his partner, Iolaus folded his arms and turned to face Ganymede.

 

The immortal grinned smugly as he helped himself to a prolonged, appraising gaze at the pair. "May I reiterate," he cooed at last, "nice pants."

 

*  
*  
*

 

At length, the two warriors managed to make their excuses to Ganymede and, after assuring Ziliaris that they would endeavor to find out what had become of his friend, managed to escape the palace. As they descended the stone staircase that would return them to Zeus Way, they were waylaid by a lyrical "Yoo hoo!" from far above. Glancing up, they saw Ganymede waving a handkerchief at them from his balcony.

 

"Don't forget!" he crooned. "You tell your friend Salmoneus that while I am still *very* cross at him over those ghastly robes he sold me I am very much looking forward to patronizing your production! And be sure to let him know that booking the pair of you was a stroke of genius. If you ask me, you two are hottest thing to hit the dramatic festival since Apollo and Hades showed up drunk and wrestled each other naked for the right to launch the festivities." He laughed gleefully. "We didn't have the heart to tell them the festival had been over for six months."

 

Hercules offered a tight-lipped smile. "Thanks," he called up to the beaming immortal.

 

"Come back and visit soon!" Ganymede insisted.

 

Without looking back, Hercules grumbled to himself and started down the mountain.

 

Iolaus stifled a grin. "You *do* know that what he meant was..."

 

"I know what he meant," Hercules replied quietly. "When I receive a compliment I say 'thanks' and do my best to ignore what was said. It's the only way I stay sane."

 

"Why bother?" laughed Iolaus with a shrug, hopping down a couple of steps to catch up with his partner. "Insanity is hereditary, you know. It's passed down from the father's side. With your family history, you're doomed."

 

"Gee, thanks." Hercules chuckled grimly. "I hate to break it to you, buddy, but if that's true you're not in much better shape than me."

 

Iolaus shook his head vigorously. "Nope," he said. "My dad wasn't crazy, he was just an asshole. And that trait comes from the mother's side."

 

"I've always meant to ask you, Iolaus... where in Tartarus do you get this stuff?"

 

"I make it up. Why?"

 

"Just checking."

 

Grinning wryly, Iolaus reached out to scratch his partner's shoulder blade in a customary gesture of appreciation and good humor. However, he quickly pulled his hand away again before he could be irrevocably subsumed by the electric thrill that even such minimal contact aroused in him. Delightful though they were, the powerfully aphrodisiacal effects of the town of Ganymede were beginning to get out of hand and far too difficult to control. How long would it be before they wound up like Salmoneus, unable to control their behavior for the sake of propriety? He cleared his throat. "So now what?"

 

Hercules frowned. "Well, Ganymede was pretty much useless..."

 

"Finally," Iolaus exclaimed, "something normal in this town." While he felt no particular ill-will towards Ganymede, he knew Hercules would be amused at the insult and the demigod looked like he could use a touch of good cheer.

 

Laughing appreciatively, both at the joke and the endearingly transparent thought behind it, Hercules smiled at his partner and continued with distinctly less bile in his tone. "At least between what we learned from Ganymede and Ziliaris we have a couple leads. I guess the next thing to do is try and talk to Poseidon."

 

"What about Zeus?" asked Iolaus. While he realized the question was likely to eradicate his partner's ephemeral good mood, it was one that had to be asked. "Wouldn't it be easier to talk to him?"

 

As expected, the demigod's eyes narrowed. "I'd like to avoid that if at all possible."

 

As Hercules stalked away, closing the door on the subject, Iolaus rolled his eyes but did not protest. His partner's questionably rational squirrelliness with respect to his father's sex life was not a new concept, although this was the first time it had directly interfered with their ability to resolve an unpleasant set of circumstances. However, considering that Iolaus, himself, was barely managing to check the overwhelming desire to tackle Hercules into the underbrush and lavish him with affection until his moans echoed through the craggy cliffs, he had to acknowledge that the demigod's reluctance to confront his father was probably among the least of their potential impediments.

 

*  
*  
*

 

By the time they reached Zeus Way it was late afternoon and the street was once again teeming with people in the height of wanton revelry. Much to Hercules' surprised satisfaction, all evidence of the illicit posters had been removed and he and Iolaus were able to make their way towards the lagoon with only slightly more than the usual amount of unwanted attention. While many of the celebrants called out to them, the demands for sneak peeks of the show that was apparently the talk of the town were easily ignored and it did not take them long to arrive at the shore. Beyond the marketplace Zeus Way was utterly deserted, as even the most oblivious vacationers had been appraised of the dangers of the local waters and were prudently choosing to avoid the beach.

 

Extending a cautious arm, Hercules made his way across the platinum sand, stopping when his fingers brushed the cool, smooth surface of the barrier. He raised his eyebrows at Iolaus, who just shrugged and gestured towards the lagoon in half-hearted encouragement. The demigod took a deep breath and shouted, "Poseidon!"

 

For a moment all was silent but then a distant rumbling heralded the arrival of one of the Pantheon's most terrifying and elusive deities. The waters beyond the archipelago began to swell and the towering form of Poseidon exploded from the ocean. Easily as tall as the cliffs that surrounded Ganymede, the watery figure began stalking slowly inland, preceded by an enormous wave, which surged forth like an angry horde and crashed thunderously against the invisible barrier as it curved dome-like away from the sea. The background noise of crowded conversation emanating from Zeus Way quelled to an eerie hush as the fearsome god made his gradual approach.

 

"You're right," Iolaus whispered to Hercules as Poseidon's shadow fell across them and his monstrous form eclipsed the sky. "This is much easier than talking to Zeus. I can't believe I even suggested it."

 

Hercules took an uncharacteristic step backwards from the barrier and watched in silence, accepting that this might be one of those rare instances that he actually deserved Iolaus' "I told you so." As Poseidon approached, however, he began to shrink in stature and solidify in form, his physique becoming stockier and less menacing. By the time he reached the shallows of the lagoon he was barely taller than Hercules and the panicked hush of Zeus Way, whose residents were no longer able to glimpse the God of the Sea, was replaced with the high trill of hundreds of gossipers exchanging accounts of the harrowing sight.

 

Poseidon traversed the still surface of the shallows without so much as a splash and then clambered laboriously up the beach. When he finally stopped, several paces in front of them, he presented one of the least menacing figures Hercules and Iolaus had encountered since they confronted Proteus in his natural form. Several inches shorter than Iolaus, he was squat and pudgy with a greasy comb-over and a perpetually dull expression in his watery eyes. He stared at Hercules, unblinking, and tilted a head that seemed far too big for his body. "Well?" he asked in a drawn-out, nasal monotone. "What do you want?"

 

Momentarily speechless, Hercules shook himself and cleared his throat. "That was quite an entrance," he remarked.

 

With a lugubrious sigh, Poseidon shrugged and responded, "I suppose. It seems to impress the mortals." Bored eyes rolled sideways to alight on Iolaus. "Were you impressed?"

 

Iolaus folded his arms petulantly. "Not really," he lied.

 

As he returned to gape vacantly at Hercules, Poseidon frowned, squinting suddenly back at Iolaus. "Do I know you?" he asked. "You look awfully familiar."

 

"Well, you did try to kill me on a couple of sea voyages..."

 

The god shook his head dismissively. "No, no," he droned. "I've tried to kill just about everyone. I can't be expected to remember every single person that has incurred my wrath, let alone keep track of their names and faces. It would be an administrative nightmare."

 

Iolaus rolled his eyes. "My identical double from an alternate universe married one of your distant relatives. Could that be it?"

 

More satisfied with this explanation, Poseidon nodded in agreement and then frowned suddenly. "That doesn't make us family, though," he cautioned. "Connections through an alternate universe do *not* count. I have enough mouths to feed as it is." He paused. "I have more children than anyone else in the Pantheon, you know."

 

"Don't worry," Iolaus scoffed. "I promise not to crash the family reunion."

 

"Good," Poseidon replied without a hint of animation. He turned to face Hercules with a bored expression. "Now why are you bothering me?"

 

Blinking as if waking from a dream, Hercules furrowed his brow uncertainly. There was something odd about Poseidon: interesting, but odd. He found himself strangely fascinated by the god's squat stature and sickly pallor. "We're concerned about all the people that have been disappearing," he replied at last, shaking his head to clear it of extraneous thoughts. "And we have reason to believe that you might be behind it."

 

"Of course I am." Poseidon adjusted his dumpy, ill-fitting robes and looked back at the sea impatiently. "What's your point?"

 

Iolaus scowled. Even after so many years of battling against the gods, he still found himself amazed at their ability to regard mortals with such callous indifference. "You can't just go kidnapping people whenever you want."

 

Eyebrows raised, Poseidon slowly turned to face him. "Why not? I *kill* people whenever I want and this doesn't seem anywhere near as bad." He rolled his eyes thoughtfully to the side, as if listening to some far-off noise. "There go another twenty three now," he added, as if the statement somehow proved his point. "Let me tell you, the great whirlpool, Charybdis, was a stroke of genius. It saves me all kinds of time."

 

"But *why* are you doing it?" Hercules demanded, deciding for the sake of his sanity to assume that Poseidon's Charybdis comment was simply an incredibly unfunny joke. "What did these kids you're abducting ever do to you?"

 

Poseidon shrugged. "We do what we must," he declared cryptically. "I don't see the harm. They've all been returned undamaged."

 

"Well, can't you stop?" Exhaling sharply in response to his partner's remark, Iolaus wondered why they even bothered to ask. It wasn't as if the bad guys ever listened to them.

 

The god's eyes narrowed. "Of course I can stop," he growled defensively. "I can stop whenever I want. But I'm not going to... unless..."

 

"Unless what?" Hercules frowned, certain that he would not like whatever was coming.

 

The skies darkened suddenly and a peal of thunder shook the heavens. "Unless you're willing to do me a favor." Poseidon gazed at Hercules seriously. "I know you've been to see Ganymede. I can smell that flowery cologne of his. If you can get him to meet with me - to consent to just one romantic evening with no expectations or obligations - I'll agree to stop absconding with the residents of this town."

 

Hercules raised his eyebrows and glanced over at Iolaus, who just shrugged hopelessly. While the proposed bargain was not what they had expected, it was nowhere near as taxing as it might have been. "Okay," the demigod agreed, hoping that his confidence was at least a little bit justified, or at least that Poseidon would refrain from calling his bluff. "I think we can manage that." He started resolutely up the beach. "Follow me."

 

"I can't." Poseidon rolled his eyes and stepped forward, flattening his hand against the air in front of him.

 

Iolaus' jaw hung open ever so slightly as he gaped at Hercules, who blinked in confusion. The demigod took a hesitant step towards his uncle. "The barrier affects you too?"

 

"Of course," the god responded. "It's your father's damned curse. It forbids me - or anyone pledged to me - from entering Ganymede." Poseidon paused and then chuckled mildly. "The town, that is."

 

Iolaus stepped forward, mindful not to pass the perimeter of the barrier. Pathetic as Poseidon might look, he was still among the most powerful of the gods and he was reluctant to venture where he couldn't rely on Hercules for aid. "So why does it affect Hercules," he challenged. "He's certainly not pledged to you."

 

Poseidon chuckled mirthlessly. "Merely a little counter strike of my own devising. If no one associated with Poseidon can get in," he declared frankly, "then no one associated with Zeus can get out."

 

"Oh." Iolaus frowned and looked back at Hercules with concern.

 

"So you see," Poseidon added, "getting me a rendezvous with Ganymede will not be as easy as you might have thought. You've got to convince Zeus to drop the curse... at least long enough for me to pass through the barrier."

 

Without awaiting a response the god turned and shuffled back towards the ocean, stopping only when the gentle tide lapped against the hem of his robes. He turned, then, and said, "If you manage to pull it off, you know where to find me," before melting seamlessly into the sea.

 

*  
*  
*

 

For a long while after Poseidon had vanished, the pair of heroes stood silently, gazing out at the ocean. The thunderheads that had darkened the slate-gray sky dispersed almost as quickly as they had accumulated and before either of the warriors was moved to speak the day had returned to the idyllic warmth expected of the southern shore in summer. The ocean breeze felt almost intimate in its caress and the glassy waters of the lagoon were calm and beckoning. There was a hint of siren's song in the distant tide.

 

Hands on his hips, Iolaus stared unblinking at the horizon. The faint lines at the corners of his eyes deepened as he frowned. "Damn," he said.

 

"No kidding," Hercules agreed. "We're dealing with not one but *two* of the most formidably stubborn beings in the universe. Resolving this is not going to be easy."

 

Iolaus raised his eyebrows and looked at his partner curiously before an expression of recognition flickered across his face. "Oh, yeah," he muttered. "That too."

 

"That *too*?"

 

Amused by Hercules' look of horrified incredulity, Iolaus clapped his partner on the shoulder. "I was still thinking about the little picture." He shrugged and issued an abrupt, defeated laugh. "We forgot to ask Poseidon what he did with Oraios."

 

"Oh," said the demigod wearily, turning to blink out at the receding tide. "Damn."

 

*  
*  
*

 

In order to minimize the chance of running into Salmoneus or the guard, Ziliaris, and getting barraged with questions they could not answer, Hercules and Iolaus elected to take the more circuitous, lower-profile route back to the inn. They plodded slowly along the still-hot sand towards the western end of the beach, where they hoped to skirt the base of the mountains at the periphery of town. It was late afternoon and the reddening hues of the sun were already beginning to bleed out into the sky as it prepared to dip below the sloping western cliffs. A breeze had arisen from the south and stirred the pristine waters of the lagoon into something more dynamic and complex, alive with the reflected colors of the sand, city, and sky.

 

"So how, exactly, should we go about this?" asked Iolaus, walking backwards so that he could face his partner as he ambled several paces back at an aggravatingly unhurried pace. Hercules had always been oddly incapable of thinking and walking at the same time. He could think and run if the urgency of a situation so required but if afforded the luxury of walking as he contemplated, the demigod was an irredeemable dawdler. This personality trait occasionally got on Iolaus' nerves, particularly when they were on their way to dinner and extra-particularly when said dinner was going to be their only meal since daybreak. Like now, for instance.

 

Oblivious to his partner's impatience, Hercules plodded along with furrowed brow, leaving deep troughs in the sand with each step. Absently, he ran two fingers along the inner surface of the invisible barricade. "Well," he responded after a few moments of consideration, "as I see it, this is a two-part challenge. The first part is getting Ganymede to agree to a romantic rendezvous with Poseidon." He scowled, the mere notion of having to serve as divine matchmaker leaving an unbearably sour taste in his mouth.

 

"That shouldn't be too difficult," Iolaus mused, scooping up a few scallop shells and launching them into the water as he waited for his partner to catch up. "It's clear that there's a rift between Zeus and Ganymede and Ganymede strikes me as the sort of childish jerk who would date a guy's brother just to make him jealous. If we play up that angle I can't imagine him *not* consenting to a meeting with Poseidon."

 

"Agreed," Hercules said. "The hard part is going to be in convincing Zeus. If he no longer had any interest in Ganymede, this barrier would be long gone." He tapped the wall thoughtfully and tried not to flinch as Iolaus wove freely across it.

 

"But how are we even supposed to contact him? If you summon him he'll wind up trapped inside the barrier with you - and I *know* we don't want that. I suppose I could leave town and try to get his attention but I doubt he'd listen to me." Iolaus threw a few more shells with an added force that belied his frustration. Aggravated, he sat down peremptorily in the sand and stood immediately back up again, wishing Hercules would just hurry the fuck up. His impatience actually stirred in him some sympathy for Ganymede who, he suddenly realized, had been waiting for an apology from his patron god for quite some time.

 

"And another thing," he added, addressing Hercules in a somewhat accusatory tone. "Where has Zeus been all this time? Hasn't he noticed that Ganymede is missing? At the very least, Mt. Olympus must be feeling the loss of his professional services."

 

Hercules raised his eyebrows.

 

"I mean, the wine pouring," Iolaus clarified, rolling his eyes irritably. "So why hasn't Zeus come down to look for him?"

 

Hercules frowned. "Maybe he knows about the barrier," he said. "Maybe he knows that if he shows up here he won't be able to leave." He pressed his hand against the wall and looked longingly at the ocean, contemplating how preferable it would be to live out amongst the waves, where Poseidon had the freedom to travel to the edge of the world and back, rather than remain imprisoned in an overpriced tourist trap. Hercules shivered slightly, aware that the claustrophobia must already be getting to him if he was starting to envy Poseidon. All things considered, he really couldn't blame his father for staying away.

 

Several paces up the beach, Iolaus was kicking up sand and ranting about Zeus' conspicuous absence. "Or maybe he can't be bothered," he muttered, more to himself than to his partner, whom he had already deduced was not listening. "As long as Poseidon can't get to Ganymede then what does he care?"

 

A sharp cry broke through the comforting background noise of the ocean tide and drew their attention towards the cliffs, where Ganymede's golden eagle was circling low over the red roofs that girded the northern edge of town. It soared determinedly above a row of tiny houses to the northwest before emitting another cry and swooping below a line of trees. Iolaus shook his head and kept on walking but Hercules squinted at the spot where the bird had vanished, tilting his head thoughtfully.

 

When several moments passed and the eagle did not reappear, Hercules took a deep, contemplative breath. "Or maybe," he mused, "he *is* here. Maybe *we* just haven't been looking."

 

Iolaus looked up with a slightly puzzled expression, and Hercules inclined his head towards the spot where they had last seen the bird. Frowning at first, Iolaus looked quizzically from his partner to the vacant skyline and back again before realization struck. He narrowed his eyes and pointed. "You mean?"

 

With a shrug, Hercules continued walking. "At this point, anything's possible." He frowned, turning his gaze from the crimson rooftops to the darkening waters of the lagoon. "There are still too many things that don't add up. We still don't know why Poseidon has been kidnapping people or why everyone in this town - including us - has been acting so strangely."

 

"You're right," said Iolaus, expelling a gravelly sigh. "Until earlier today I honestly thought you might have been imagining it but Sal's behavior... Even *he* has better manners than that."

 

Hercules pursed his lips and nodded. "I know. So what do you think is causing it?"

 

"Not sure. Maybe an effect of the barrier?" Iolaus scooped up a handful of sand and tossed it at the invisible wall for emphasis but it fell to the ground unaffected, utterly failing to punctuate his point.

 

Spitting out some of the thrown sand whose trajectory had ended with his mouth and glaring irritably at his partner, the demigod shook his head. "I don't think so," he said. "The barrier seems to be a completely localized phenomenon. But there's no question that all of these things have to be connected." He sighed dejectedly and moved on to the next point. "What about the kidnappings?"

 

"Well that, at least, makes a little more sense," Iolaus declared, stopping again to wait for his partner to catch up.

 

"Is that so?" Hercules frowned dubiously. Iolaus was far enough ahead of him on the beach that the demigod could not see his face well enough to tell whether he was being facetious.

 

"Sure." He picked up a lump of seaweed that had washed up onto the beach, sniffed at it, and threw it away hastily before turning to face the demigod. "Everyone who has disappeared has been young and attractive, right?"

 

Hercules looked skeptical. It was much more difficult to follow Iolaus' reasoning without the added clues of his facial expressions and he was still a few dozen paces away. Why did he have to walk so damned fast? After a moments thought he suggested, "So Poseidon's trying to find some other foolhardy, attractive youth to pursue?"

 

"Not for him," Iolaus replied, finally giving up and tromping back along the beach toward Hercules. "For Zeus. Poseidon's looking to distract him so he can have a shot at Ganymede."

 

Maybe it was just the added emphasis of Iolaus' impatient certainty but this theory actually made sense. Hercules nodded in agreement and looked at the sea thoughtfully. "The old bait and switch," he mused.

 

Iolaus rolled his eyes. "That is *not* the bait and switch. The bait and switch is when you use a fake gem to lure Autolycus into a trap... or how you'd trick Narcissus into marrying some king's ugly daughter. This is more like a distract and grab."

 

Hercules shook his head vigorously. "The distract and grab is how you would rescue a princess being guarded by a Cyclops."

 

"Right," Iolaus insisted, tugging on Hercules' arm to get him moving again. "And this is the exact same thing. Only Ganymede is the princess and Zeus is the Cyclops."

 

"Then what are the kidnapped teenagers?"

 

"They're the shiny thing you distract the Cyclops with."

 

Hercules shook his head skeptically. "I'm not buying it. I think that the teenagers are the bait and the switch is when Poseidon takes Zeus's place as Ganymede's patron."

 

"That shows what you know," Iolaus scoffed. "This is more like when you have a battle of wits and poison your opponent's wine and switch the cups when his back is turned."

 

"Only instead of poison they're using a love potion."

 

"And Poseidon gets Zeus to turn around by distracting him with the shiny teenagers."

 

"Right." Hercules nodded, glad that they had finally come to an agreement but thoroughly unclear about what they had just agreed upon. He frowned. "What's Ganymede again? Is he the wine?"

 

"I think he's the cup."

 

"Well that doesn't make any sense."

 

"None of this does. You'll notice we've cast Poseidon and Zeus as the 'wits.'"

 

Hercules took a deep breath and pinched the bridge of his nose. "I still feel like there's something we're missing."

 

"Join the club, O Mighty Hercules. Join the club."

 

The statement, issued caustically from among the shadows of the western cliffs, startled them both. Iolaus instinctively assumed a defensive position, scanning the beach for any hearty detritus that might be of use in a fight. Hercules drew himself up to his most intimidating posture and squinted in the direction from which the comment had emerged.

 

A motion within the shadows betrayed the location of the remark's originator and the outline of a young warrior soon emerged. He walked towards them slowly, hands held up to show that he was unarmed. Clad in shaded earth tones and pale boots, he had blended perfectly into the rocky cliff-face and sand, the additional camouflage of the protracted late-afternoon shadows rendering him practically invisible.

 

Iolaus relaxed his stance somewhat as the boy approached but remained leery until he recognized his olive features and distinctive, soft expression. The last time he had seen that face it had been almost unrecognizably twisted in terror, but it was certainly the same boy he had attempted to rescue that morning. Iolaus took a few, cautious steps towards where the boy had halted his approach several paces away. "Oraios?"

 

"The one and only," Oraios beamed, offering a little courteous bow. "And, of course, I know who the both of you are." He held out his arm and Iolaus took a small step forward to take it in a warrior's grip. "It's truly an honor." He smiled at Hercules, who cleared his throat awkwardly.

 

"I... ah... can't really..." He flattened his hand against the barrier by way of demonstration.

 

Oraios was unfazed. "I know the feeling," he laughed, flattening his own hand against the outside of the barrier with a meaningful shrug. He sighed and gave the wall a swift but cautious kick. "I guess we'll have to save the formalities for some other time."

 

Frowning, Iolaus considered Oraios closely. "You're looking much better than when I last saw you," he remarked.

 

"I'll say." The boy laughed grimly. "I came down here to talk to my uncle about putting an end to this ridiculous feud of his and got caught up in one of those damn vortices. Fortunately, when Uncle Poseidon found out it was me he had netted I was spared the humiliation of being paraded in front of Zeus in some offensively revealing outfit like... well, kind of like the ones you two are wearing."

 

His eyes widening in sudden recollection, Hercules looked down at his chest, which was shining with perspiration and barely covered by the scant swath of fabric Salmoneus had forced him to don. Further down, his leather pants, skin-like and insubstantial, sucked his legs tenaciously, revealing every curve and contour his lower-body had to offer. In a sudden frenzy of rebellion, he tore the shirt from where it had been neatly tucked into his waistband and left it to hang out sloppily so that its wrinkled hem struck him at mid-thigh.

 

Having endured too many embarrassments in the last day to even flinch at Oraios' remark, Iolaus left the mortification to his partner and zeroed in on the topic at hand. "So Poseidon really is trying to kidnap Zeus a new... special friend?"

 

Oraios nodded and rolled his eyes. "'Trying' is certainly the operative word. There aren't many out there that could measure up to Ganymede."

 

"He certainly is unique." Hercules tried not to let *too* much contempt seep into his tone.

 

"I don't know," Iolaus mused, rubbing his chin as he looked up at the mountains, where the turrets of the immortal's palace loomed majestically over the sea of thatched village roofs. "Ganymede's attitude may be one of a kind but he looked really familiar. I can't quite put my finger on it but it's been bugging me all day." He looked up at his partner with a puzzled frown. "Didn't he remind you of someone? Someone we know?"

 

"Not really," Hercules grumbled, "and I'm glad."

 

Oraios laughed and leaned against the barrier casually. "I know the feeling," he assured the demigod. "If I thought there were more than one Ganymede out there in the world I might have to go on a violent rampage just on principle."

 

Iolaus' eyebrows flew up at this, not so much in reaction to Oraios' statement but at Hercules' ill-subdued and distinctly wicked chuckling. He cleared his throat. "Well, it doesn't matter. The material point is that Poseidon is never going to be able to find a replacement for Ganymede. He and Zeus are at an impasse."

 

"I wouldn't quite say that," Oraios corrected. He dug his boot into the soft sand and squinted out at the setting sun. "I mean, they are at an impasse but it's not because Zeus won't agree to a replacement for Ganymede. It's more complicated than that."

 

"Oh good," Hercules exclaimed, throwing up his hands disconsolately, "*more* complicated." He heaved a morose sigh and then, suddenly concerned that his reaction might be interpreted as pathetic or cowardly by their young companion, drew himself up and folded his arms determinedly. Deep down he knew this artificial posture probably looked as ludicrous as it felt but he tried not to think about that.

 

"So can you fill us in on what's actually happening?" Iolaus asked. Out of the corner of his eye he monitored his partner suspiciously, feeling vaguely paranoid that Hercules was about to bolt for freedom and wind up knocking himself unconscious again.

 

Oraios, who also apparently feared a rash act from the demigod, looked awry at Hercules before continuing. "The thing is..." He paused, pursing his lips angrily. "Zeus has already set his sights on a new favorite. It's my sister. Melite."

 

"Let me guess," said Hercules, harkening back to their conversation with Ganymede. "A redhead?"

 

"That's right," said Oraios, surprised. He took a few curious steps forward, swearing as he stubbed his toe on the barrier. "How did you... Do you know her?"

 

Hercules frowned and looked sideways at his partner. "I don't think so. But Ganymede does. He mentioned something about a redhead when we spoke to him earlier."

 

"And I bet he had a few choice words for her," Oraios laughed caustically, still rubbing his foot.

 

"You could say that."

 

Over the course of this discussion, Iolaus had begun pacing fitfully back and forth across the barrier, much to the discomfort of his two confined companions. At this point he stopped, turning around suddenly. "So if Zeus is with your sister now - and my condolences, by the way - why the big fight over Ganymede?" He sauntered up to where Hercules and Oraios were leaning against the wall. "Why this?" He made an unsuccessful attempt to knock on its surface which made the others roll their eyes irritably.

 

"Because my sister's a smart girl," the young guard replied proudly. "She wants nothing to do with him. Besides, she's already in love with someone else."

 

"Not another god, I hope." Iolaus *really* hoped.

 

"No," Oraios laughed. "Nothing so deliciously ironic. She's engaged to a mortal - a retired soldier. And Poseidon wants to keep it that way. Melite's his favorite niece and it would take a wagonload of convincing to talk him into handing her over to Zeus."

 

"Lucky her," Iolaus muttered.

 

"Lucky nobody." Oraios' eyes grew suddenly darker. "Those two immortal idiots have gotten us all mixed up in their stupid feud now. Zeus says he won't lift the barrier until Poseidon grants him Melite - like she's some sort of fucking property. And Poseidon won't lift *his* barrier until Zeus gives him Ganymede..."

 

"And Ganymede, naturally, has no interest." Hercules frowned, resting his forehead against the cool surface of the wall.

 

Oraios shook his head. "He's never given Poseidon a second thought, but my uncle considers him fair game as long as he and Zeus are no longer an item. Meanwhile Ganymede's still furious with Zeus because he thinks he's taken up with Melite. She came to the palace yesterday afternoon to try to smooth things over, to assure Ganymede that she had no interest in Zeus but he just threw one of his fits and started hurling shrimp forks. She finally gave up and left when he ordered one of his eunuchs to scratch her eyes out."

 

Iolaus bit his lip hard, reminding himself sternly that this was not at all funny.

 

"After yesterday's fiasco," Oraios continued, "I made the retrospectively regrettable decision to get involved and go to Poseidon directly. He, apparently, does not consider Ganymede's lack of interest much of an obstacle. He claims that he'll take care of it, that he can make Ganymede fall in love with him." He shuddered with disgust. "As much of a twit as Ganymede is, he doesn't deserve this kind of treatment. No one does. And now, on top of everything else, I'm stuck out here, exiled from the city with absolutely no hope of imminent return."

 

The three men stood in silence for several moments as Oraios regained his composure and brought his sharp, angry breathing back under control.

 

"Everything's going to be fine," Hercules assured Oraios gently. He reached out to pat the boy on the shoulder but was blocked by the ever-infuriating invisible wall, biting back an expletive as he felt the blood rush to his newly scraped knuckles. Noticing this, Iolaus extended an arm to comfort Oraios in his partner's stead.

 

"We're going to try and contact Zeus," he said. "We'll do everything we can to bring you home as soon as possible."

 

Oraios nodded, covering Iolaus' hand, which still rested on his shoulder, gratefully with his own. He took a deep breath and looked up at Hercules, who was staring at their clasped hands with an oddly rapt intensity. "Poseidon seems to think that Zeus is on Olympus," Oraios whispered, glancing fearfully over his shoulder, "but I know he's been seen around town. It may be that he's found a way to circumvent the barrier."

 

"If he's in Ganymede, we'll find him," Iolaus promised. "Do you know where he's been seen?"

 

"He usually keeps a low profile," Oraios said, "but there's one place he goes every evening without fail: a little inn on the outskirts of town. The Gryphon's Head. Do you know it?"

 

"Yeah," said Hercules quietly, throwing his partner a dark look. "Yeah. We know it."

 

*  
*  
*

 

Once they had taken their leave of Oraios and promised to inform Ziliaris of his whereabouts, Hercules and Iolaus resumed their journey back to the Gryphon's Head with renewed determination, although their sense of urgency was still governed more by the rumbling in Iolaus' stomach than the notion that anyone was in mortal peril. According to the young guard, Zeus almost never arrived at the tavern before nightfall and he usually stayed until the taps ran dry or the innkeeper threw him out, whichever came first. Upon learning that Hercules and Iolaus were, in fact, staying at the inn in question, Oraios assured them that they could probably expect a visit from a worried Ziliaris as soon as his shift was over. As such, they had the unusual leisure of taking their time walking back to the inn, although Iolaus was not particularly inclined to do so.

 

Kneeling down to pick up a good sized rock that he could toss from hand to hand, pretending it was an apple, Iolaus squinted up at his brooding partner, whose head was framed by the fiery halo of the setting sun. "There's nothing we can do now but wait," he said wearily. "There's no point in stewing over it now." He paused for a moment and then gasped as if suddenly remembering something. "Hey, and speaking of stew, let's go get some. Stew! Get it? Get it?" His eager nods gradually morphed into an aggravated head shake at Hercules' utter lack of response.

 

The demigod, whose face had assumed a perpetual grimace just muttered to himself, periodically glancing back at the ocean.

 

"Hercules? Hello?" Iolaus snapped in front of his face until he noticed perceptible eye movement. "Look, nobody's going to get hurt between now and nightfall. Zeus is hiding out somewhere, Poseidon's gone back to sea, and Oraios is patrolling the beach to make sure nobody else gets taken. We've got it covered. Easy as pie. And speaking of pie..."

 

"I'm just frustrated," Hercules sighed, finally relinquishing his trance-like state. "I know that we're missing something. Something important. And I just can't figure out what it is."

 

Iolaus rolled his eyes, too tired and hungry to curb his impatience. "Well there's no use *whining* about it. And that reminds me: you know what I could *really* go for right now...?"

 

"And I feel terrible for poor Oraios," he added, completely oblivious to his partner's unsubtle intimations. "First he gets stuck with an unfeeling prick like Poseidon for an uncle, then he has to work for a deluded megalomaniac like Ganymede, now he's exiled from his friends and family, stuck behind an invisible shield. The whole situation is just tragic."

 

"That's it!" Iolaus exclaimed, smacking himself on the forehead and looking up at Hercules excitedly. "*That's* who Ganymede reminds me of. Unfeeling prick? Deluded megalomaniac? Invisible shield? I can't believe I didn't figure it out before. I'm telling you, he's the spitting image of Ganymede."

 

Hercules frowned. "Who, Oraios? Hardly. First of all, they look nothing alike. And second of all, Ganymede can't hold a candle to him for pure sexiness." He smiled wistfully. "All the effusiveness in the world will never make up for the rugged but innocent kind of 'fuck me now' charm that Oraios has going for him. And besides that... what?"

 

His countenance wavering between shock and amusement, Iolaus had stopped to stare at his partner. "What did you just say?" He laughed uncertainly.

 

For a moment the demigod frowned irritably but when he replayed his most recent statement in his head his eyes widened and a faint blush flared beneath his travel-tanned cheeks.

 

Smirking complacently, Iolaus folded his arms. "I think _'fuck me now' charm_ is a new turn of phrase for you..." He adopted an expression of mock indignation. "You certainly never say anything that romantic about *me*."

 

Hercules rolled his eyes. "I was just pointing out that I can see why Ziliaris and Salmoneus - despite his protests - are so smitten with him. That's all."

 

"Relax, Herc," Iolaus laughed. "You're in the prime of your life. You *are* allowed to be lusty now and then, you know."

 

"Don't patronize me," Hercules snapped. He straightened his shirt with a prim sniff. "I know I'm allowed to be lusty. I can be *very* lusty... in my own way." Dutifully ignoring Iolaus' snort of laughter, he ran a hand through his hair in frustration and added, "But there's a difference between natural... attraction... and out of character behavior. We both know that under normal circumstances I would never use the phrase, _'fuck me now' charm._"

 

"At least not about Oraios," Iolaus chuckled. "He's not your type. Xena, maybe... but Oraios is just a kid."

 

"I know," Hercules winced. "It's this damn town," he said darkly. "Whatever it does, however it affects everyone... It's really starting to get to me."

 

"Will you take it easy on yourself?" Iolaus had stopped walking now, his good-natured humor giving way to genuine irritation. "One lascivious comment does not make you into a deplorable sex fiend. It doesn't change who you are."

 

"Okay. You're right." Hercules raised his palms placatingly and took a deep breath, turning his head to peer at the ocean. "I just..." He frowned at his partner earnestly. "I just don't like feeling out of control."

 

Iolaus' features softened and he took a few steps forward, reaching out to grasp the demigod's shoulders. "I know," he said, tightening his grip as he took another step forward. He leaned in to press his cheek against the stubble of his partner's well-defined jaw, letting his hot breath mix with the cool ocean breeze to make the tiny hairs on Hercules' neck jump to attention. With a quick brush of his lip against the demigod's earlobe, he whispered, "But sometimes losing control can be a Very Good Thing." Pulling away with slow, seductive deliberation, Iolaus punctuated his remark with a soft but passionate kiss. He lingered for a few additional moments to suck on Hercules' lower lip, smiling at the stifled moan that this gesture elicited, before stepping back and fixing his partner with a suggestive leer.

 

Hercules' dreamy smile was as fleeting as it was alluring. He got only as far as placing an insistent hand against the taut muscles of Iolaus' neck before he drew suddenly away, shaking his head to clear it. "No, Iolaus. Look, we can't do this now. We have to stay focused." He staggered backwards awkwardly, stumbling over some moderately-sized rocks that girded the base of the mountain and landing abruptly on his ass.

 

Not bothering to help his partner to his feet, Iolaus scowled and folded his arms. "And what, may I ask, is the sudden hurry?" He looked on insistently as Hercules got to his feet and dusted himself off. "We've got nothing but time until nightfall and it's not like we have a plan or anything."

 

"Exactly," responded Hercules, blinking at Iolaus incredulously. "Don't you think it's time we made one? If this feud between Zeus and Poseidon escalates any further this town could be in serious trouble. Look, let's just get back to the inn. We'll have a nice big dinner and work out exactly what we're going to do."

 

Iolaus narrowed his eyes and considered this proposal for several moments. "Fine," he agreed at last. "But since you're so cruelly denying me sex I get to demand that we take the in-town route the rest of the way back Even on the back roads it'll be faster than skirting along the mountains and I'll be able to grab some wine and olives to tide me over. Unlike you, I have been *conscious* most of the day and I'm fucking starving." Without waiting for a response, he turned on his heels and began marching towards the narrow path that branched away from the cliffs towards town.

 

"Fine," sighed Hercules, trotting to catch up. He placed a consoling arm over his partner's shoulders; he could definitely sympathize with Iolaus' irritation. Even he, himself, was feeling somewhat resentful towards his own sense of self-restraint for denying them the chance for some really good sex. "Sorry," he offered.

 

"You should be," Iolaus countered with playful scorn, increasing his pace so that Hercules' arm fell from his shoulders. Once he was several paces ahead he made a deliberate show of brushing his hands against the back of his ass, where he knew the pants Salmoneus had given him were providing a particularly tantalizing view. He looked over his shoulder with a flirtatious wink. "After all, if you didn't walk so damned slow we could have squeezed in six or seven rounds by now."

 

With a self-satisfied smile, Iolaus waited two beats and then took off at a sprint, barely eluding his partner's attempted grab from behind. The tackle with which he would eventually be apprehended would herald yet another victory for temptation and, hopefully, keep Hercules from fixating on problems that were beyond his control. Iolaus smiled to himself as he sprinted down the mountain path towards a vacant side-street. It was no wonder that Poseidon had been trying to implement the old 'distract and grab.' The technique worked marvelously on so many levels.

 

*  
*  
*

 

By the time they arrived at the Gryphon's Head, Hercules was feeling distinctly ill at ease. It seemed that the further embroiled he and Iolaus became in this twisted affair the more complicated the task of resolving it became. To make matters worse, every solution they could come up with involved the willing compromise of at least one famously obdurate deity. Nevertheless, it was not this set of challenges that was weighing most heavily on the demigod's mind. On the contrary, the singular concept that was monopolizing his concerns was sex, pure and simple.

 

Iolaus had been fully justified in accusing Hercules of overreacting to his lewd but admittedly accurate description of Oraios. What he hadn't picked up on, however, was that the comment had been a slip, the manifestation of a larger problem. What was most worrisome to Hercules as he and Iolaus pulled up a pair of bar stools at the sparsely populated Gryphon's Head tavern was not so much the general aphrodisiacal influence he found himself under but rather at *whom* the resulting thoughts were uncontrollably directed.

 

He was as attracted as ever to Iolaus, of course, but the brazen images that periodically ambled unbidden into his mind involved unlikely players indeed. If had been only Oraios disrupting his thought processes Hercules might not have suspected anything out of the ordinary - at least beyond what they had already surmised. Though far from his standard of ideal (which had for many years been unshakably defined by Iolaus on the men's side, Deineira on the women's) Oraios was undeniably attractive. He came across as amiable and in possession of a good heart and a healthy level of defiance towards the gods. It was, therefore, not inconceivable that Hercules should be attracted to him, particularly in a heightened libidinal state. However, what initialized the warning flag for the demigod was that his mind kept wandering with lust and yearning to the thought - the unspeakable thought - of Poseidon. Amoral, cruel, and capricious Poseidon. Dumpy, bald, and boring-as-a-tree-stump Poseidon. Unfathomable and logically repulsive as it was, it was a thought he could not seem to escape.

 

Shuddering involuntarily, Hercules squeezed his eyes closed and tried to rid himself of the image of Poseidon lounging naked across a chaise lounge made of clam shells with the grim reminder that during their encounter the god of the sea had barely looked at him, let alone displayed any notable interest. He did, however, seem to recall Poseidon stealing a surreptitious glance at the fall of leather across Iolaus' groin. The thought stirred in him a wave of jealousy in both directions. Much though he tried to suppress the whole ludicrous line of thought, his brain insistently lamented that if Poseidon fell in love with Iolaus he'd just die.

 

"Could there be *more* love triangles in this situation?" Iolaus, oblivious to his partner's disturbing internal struggle, sat staring sourly at the flagon of wine he had procured on their walk back to the inn. As it had turned out, his insistence upon taking the in-town route had paid off. In addition to running across a wayward wine merchant who was more than happy to offer his wares to the town's newest and most widely admired celebrities, he and Hercules had stumbled across Mione, the young girl that had allegedly been taken early that morning. While she had been unwilling to either confirm or deny her supposed abduction and was excruciatingly shy, particularly with Hercules, the girl seemed generally in good health and a couple of coins had convinced her to take a side-trip to Ganymede's palace and inform Ziliaris that his friend was alive and well. However, while this chance encounter had been an unforeseen stroke of luck, it had done little to help sort out the tangle of relationships that they were now expected to set right. Iolaus took a quick drink of wine and looked expectantly at the demigod.

 

"What?" Hercules asked, disconcerted by the aptness of his partner's question within the context of his internal monologue. "I never... What are you implying?"

 

Iolaus grinned with amusement at his partner's defensive glare. "Here," he said, handing over the wine. "I think you need the rest of this more than I do." When Hercules had accepted the flagon and taken a hefty swig, Iolaus continued. "Okay, so we've got Poseidon, who's in love with Ganymede, who's in love with Zeus, who's in love with either Ganymede or... what was her name?"

 

Hercules swallowed abruptly. "Melite."

 

"Right. Ganymede or Melite or possibly both."

 

"But Melite is in love with some warrior who allegedly loves her back so she won't consent to a match with Zeus..."

 

"... who won't withdraw his barrier because Poseidon is in love with Ganymede, who won't consent to a match with Poseidon because he's still in love with Zeus."

 

"But Poseidon won't dispel *his* barrier until he has Ganymede, who he has no chance with anyway unless he consents to a match between Melite and Zeus."

 

"Which is about as likely as Demeter declaring Hades 'Known World's Greatest Son-In-Law' according to Oraios, who is the object of adoration for Ziliaris and Salmoneus and... Maybe we'd better write this down." He swiped a quill and parchment from within one of the serving aprons that hung within easy reach behind the bar, scribbling furiously to take all of the relationships into account. When he had finished, he looked at the parchment skeptically and then slid it over to Hercules with a frown. "It seems like there should be more than just two people in love with Oraios. Am I forgetting anyone?"

 

Hercules cleared his throat uncomfortably. "Nope. No one." He pushed the parchment away hastily and took a long draught of wine.

 

"And then there's us." Iolaus shook his head perplexedly. With a slight shrug, he added them to the diagram.

 

"Right. Us."

 

"Why are we involved in this again?"

 

Rather than answering, Hercules tipped back the flagon of wine and finished the last few swallows. When he lowered the empty container to the bar he found himself locked in a gaze with the two most beautiful aquamarine eyes he had ever beheld. The eyes, flecked with copper sparkles that were highlighted by fiery red lashes stared back at him nervously and then flitted shyly to the side. The eyes belonged to an alabaster-skinned girl whose loveliness was unmatched by anyone the demigod had ever seen. The girl was carrying two tankards of ale. Hercules cocked his head to the side dreamily. "I think I'm in love," he said.

 

"Me too," Iolaus laughed good-naturedly as he took a swig from one of the tankards. "Thanks, Muriel, that's just what we needed. I think we'll both be ready to marry you if you bring us a couple of stews." He grinned broadly and offered the barmaid a flirtatious wink.

 

Although Iolaus' remark inspired a smile and a coy laugh from the redhead, her merriment did not persist long as she shot Hercules an odd, suspicious glance before scurrying away to the kitchen.

 

"Wow," Hercules sighed, watching her retreat with rapt fascination as he leaned on the bar, chin on fist, indifferent to the fact that his elbow was sitting in something sticky.

 

Iolaus regarded his partner dubiously. "Wow is right," he said. "What in Tartarus is wrong with you?"

 

"What?" Hercules blinked innocently and pried his unwilling elbow from the bar. "You don't think she's attractive?"

 

"Are you kidding?" Iolaus laughed. "Of *course* I do. You know I have a thing for redheads."

 

"So there you go." The demigod indicated the door through which Muriel had retreated with a flourish. "I happen to agree with you. She's amazing. She's perfect. And did you see those lips? Do you have *any idea* what she could do with those lips?"

 

Scowling, Iolaus narrowed his eyes. "Okay, I take back what I said before about you overreacting. There is definitely something wrong with you." Noticing that Hercules was still staring longingly at the kitchen door, Iolaus reached out with one hand and grabbed his partner's face. The fingers pressing into his flushed cheeks made the demigod appear almost fish-like as Iolaus forced him to meet his gaze. "You're ga-ga over a woman that you barely gave a second glance to yesterday," he declared. "You don't *do* ga-ga."

 

Hercules opened his mouth to respond in affront but halted his objection mid-thought. Iolaus was right. He *didn't* do ga-ga. At least, not very often. Deeply repressed memories of Cupid's arrows, Psyche, and mortifyingly bad poetry came surging to the front of his consciousness and he rapidly forced them back into hiding.

 

Nevertheless here he was yet again, overwhelmed with feelings of uncharacteristic and irrational lust. First Poseidon, then Oraios, now Muriel. So what was the connection? He frowned, recalling The barmaid's odd behavior that morning. She had mistaken him and Iolaus as envoys... perhaps even as representatives of Zeus, as Ziliaris had assumed. She had been formally attired the previous day, the same day Oraios' sister had allegedly confronted Ganymede, the same immortal that earlier had spoken so bitterly of 'conniving redheads.' Of course. It was all too obvious.

 

"Well?" Iolaus demanded. He had long since given up trying to follow the manifold of expressions on his partner's face, instead sipping patiently at his ale until Hercules' visage settled into the air of, 'It's all so obvious.'

 

"Poseidon," Hercules declared triumphantly. "That's the connection. They're all related to Poseidon."

 

"Really," said Iolaus with mock fascination. "Poseidon, eh? Gee that's great. Good to know." He paused as the sarcasm flew over Hercules' head, crashed into the rafters and dropped like a rock, braining an innocent customer at the other end of the bar. "I just have one question... They *who*?"

 

"The ones I can't seem to stop thinking about." Hercules tapped his chin pensively. "It must be part of the spell that's altering our behavior." He frowned suddenly at Iolaus. Can't you feel it?"

 

Iolaus shook his head earnestly and took another swig of ale. "You're really going to have to fill in the gaps, here. Let's start with what I'm supposed to be feeling."

 

"The attraction spell," Hercules insisted, leaning forward to plant his hands on Iolaus' thighs. "Don't you find it affects you more intensely with some people than others?"

 

Eyes flitting to the fingers that were insistently massaging his thighs Iolaus momentarily considered that this whole discussion was a ploy on Hercules' part to lure him upstairs. But the almost manic look of realization in the demigod's expression suggested otherwise. "I guess," he answered doubtfully. "It's stronger with you. But I'd been assuming that was just an enhancement of what was already there, you know?"

 

Suddenly baffled, Hercules leaned in closer, mindless of the odd looks they were getting from the scattered occupants of the tavern. "So you don't feel unusually... drawn to Oraios? Or Melite?" He wasn't quite ready to fess up to Poseidophilia yet. It was still too embarrassing.

 

Iolaus, however, was frowning in confusion. "We haven't met Melite yet," he pointed out.

 

"Oh, didn't I mention that? Melite is Muriel."

 

"She is?"

 

"Yeah."

 

"Well, that's convenient," he chuckled wryly. At this point, there was very little that could surprise him. He made a note of this new discovery on his diagram and paused for a moment before continuing, trying to remember the original question. "But in either case, no. I didn't notice anything in particular about those two. Muriel caught my eye right away, naturally, but her effect on me has been pretty much proportional to everyone else's."

 

Hercules exhaled sharply. "I don't get it," he sighed. Across the room, a pair of housewives were staring at him oddly and he glowered back to make them turn away.

 

"Those two really got to you, eh?" Iolaus was serious and thoughtful, aware that for Hercules to admit to being affected the spell, whatever it was, must be having a truly deleterious impact. He looked at his partner sympathetically.

 

"Yeah." Hercules sighed and took a long draught of his ale. He suddenly lamented having glared at a pair of innocent housewives and tried to smile at them in apology but they were no longer willing to make eye contact. He looked back at Iolaus quizzically. "But why is it just affecting me?"

 

"Well that one's obvious, isn't it?" Iolaus shrugged. "It's the same reason the barrier at the beach only works on you. The spell is designed to repel Zeus but it works on everyone associated with him. Your sudden crush on Oraios is no different than your not being able to leave the city... or him being unable to enter it."

 

Hercules sighed in frustration and emptied his tankard. Iolaus' explanation didn't seem all that obvious to him, although he had to admit that it made sense. He pondered for a few moments upon the implications of their newfound realizations, finally hitting upon the question which most aptly summarized them. "Why the fuck would anyone cast a spell to make Zeus fall in love with Poseidon?"

 

"Because," lilted an impatient, feminine voice from behind the bar. " The spell wasn't aimed at Zeus. It was aimed at Ganymede." Hercules and Iolaus looked up to see Muriel standing before them with two plates of stew and a sad smile. "Sorry," she added, setting the plates on the bar and fishing a pair of spoons out of her apron, "I have the bad habit of eavesdropping when I hear people gossiping about me."

 

"Not at all," Hercules swallowed hard and directed his gaze at his dinner, pushing it absently around on his plate.

 

Iolaus ignored the meal and studied the barmaid's features carefully. "The spell was for Ganymede?" he asked.

 

"Of course," Muriel laughed bitterly. "It was the focus of a 'brilliant' scheme my uncle concocted to make Ganymede fall in love with him. I'm still not sure how he pulled it off - he shouldn't be able to affect anything inside the barrier - but for what it's worth he managed to find a loophole somehow." She laughed again, more caustically, and helped herself to a swig of Iolaus' ale. "Ironically enough, his spell seems to have gotten to everyone in Ganymede except Ganymede himself. When I visited him yesterday he said he'd rather be seen in a burlap toga than with Poseidon on his arm."

 

Iolaus winced. "Ouch."

 

"No kidding," Muriel snorted. "And then *your* father..." She poked Hercules violently in the shoulder. "... goes and gets hit with the spell and falls in love with *me*, the stupid ass." She paused, considering the demigod's deep blush and deliberately averted eyes. "And I suppose it's got to you too, now."

 

"I think so," Hercules mumbled into his stew. "Sorry."

 

The barmaid shrugged and considered the orange hue of the light that filtered in through the windows on the opposite wall. "Don't worry about it," she said dismissively. "We'll be in ebb tide soon, so the effect should start waning. It won't be this bad again for half a day."

 

"The spell runs with the tides?" Iolaus raised his eyebrows.

 

"As far as I can tell," Muriel replied. "Don't ask me why."

 

"Look," said Iolaus. "We just want to end this feud. Is there anything you could tell us that would help?"

 

Muriel shook her head sadly. "I've tried everything I could think of already. I've pleaded with my uncle... I've pleaded with Zeus... I've even pleaded with Ganymede but no one will budge. The only way this situation could be satisfactorily resolved is if Poseidon lost interest in Ganymede, Zeus lost interest in me, and Ganymede agreed to take Zeus back, but that doesn't seem particularly likely." Her face adopted a hunted expression as her words poured out in a hushed but rising panic. "Poseidon's spell is bound to work on Ganymede eventually in which case I'll wind up the target of Zeus' affections *all* day rather than just at high tide and I might as well start wearing a great big target on my frock and a sign that says, 'Attention, Hera: Lighting goes here.' She puts up with Ganymede because he's pretty and obsequious and plies her with wine and fashion advice but there's no way in Tartarus she'd stand for me. And even if I happen to live, becoming Zeus' love slave is likely to become a source of contention between me and Laesus - he's my fiancée if you haven't already figured *that* out. As if he didn't have enough troubles keeping this inn afloat without a bunch of unruly god-types loafing about. " Her tirade over, the barmaid started to hyperventilate. When she noticed that Iolaus was furiously scrawling amendments onto his illustration, she took advantage of his distraction and helped herself to another long drink of his ale.

 

Having recovered from the initial shock of the attraction and mollified by the notion that his unnatural feelings would ebb away with the tide, Hercules finally pulled himself together sufficiently to join the conversation. "We don't want anything to happen to you, Melite," he softly assured her. "We'll stop this."

 

As his tankard was currently being monopolized by Muriel, Iolaus availed himself of Hercules' ale and took a long swig. "I couldn't agree more," he said. "There's just that little sticking point of 'how' we have to contend with."

 

"Well," said Hercules thoughtfully, looking around the bar and discovering with disappointment that he had somehow lost his drink, "I think the key to all of this is in dissuading Poseidon from his interest in Ganymede."

 

"That's not going to be easy," Muriel said, handing Hercules the remnants of Iolaus' ale and reaching below the bar to draw two fresh ones. "My uncle is very proud. Even if he becomes disinterested in Ganymede, he's devoted too much time and energy to just let it go. If he withdraws his attention he'll expect something in return."

 

Hercules nodded grimly, accepting his fresh ale with a faint smile of gratitude. "We'll deal with that when we come to it."

 

Iolaus remained unconvinced. "That still doesn't explain how we go about it."

 

"Well, let's just think." Hercules furrowed his brow. "If you were smitten with Ganymede, what would make you change your mind?"

 

"Having a conversation with him?" Iolaus suggested with a shrug.

 

Hercules scowled into his ale. "Very funny."

 

"Actually, Iolaus has a point," Muriel said, toweling off her hands with a rag and throwing it over her shoulder as she leaned against the bar. "My uncle is a lot pickier than Zeus in his choice of companions and, as I'm sure you know, Ganymede isn't exactly the world's greatest conversationalist."

 

"So you're saying we should just go along with Poseidon's request and let the whole thing work itself out?" Hercules was skeptical but fresh out of ideas so he was willing to listen. He glanced at his partner for his opinion of the plan.

 

Through a mouthful of ale, Iolaus muttered something about that solution being a little anti-climactic.

 

"I really don't care, as long as it works," Hercules said. "But we still have to get Zeus to agree to it."

 

Muriel opened her mouth to speak but shut it again instantly as the stranger a few stools down shifted suddenly in his seat and winked at her. "I think that can be arranged," he said, regarding Hercules and Iolaus with an appraising smile. The stranger was robed in a long, dingy cloak with an oversized hood but as he pushed it back an array of gold slithered across his form. Suddenly his robes were a brilliant white with gold and emerald trim; the tangles fell away from his snowy beard and his perfectly white teeth gleamed almost as brightly as the cunning glint in his eye. As the stranger inclined his eyebrows lasciviously in Muriel's direction, causing her to abruptly excuse herself to attend to the other customers, Hercules winced and threw back his ale.

 

"Hey Herc," Iolaus muttered, "I think we found your dad."

 

*  
*  
*

 

"Hello, father," said Hercules tersely, trying to quell his shock at the god's sudden appearance. He and Iolaus had scanned the tavern in search of Zeus when they had arrived but his disguise had been thorough enough that he was overlooked. The demigod decided to use this rare opportunity to channel the energy he would have otherwise used for self-berating into healthy irritation with his father. "Need I ask what you're doing here?"

 

Zeus made an absent gesture. "I'm visiting my beloved, of course." He smiled sweetly at Muriel, who was taking orders from a table in the corner and working very hard at avoiding eye contact with the inhabitants of the bar. When he turned back to face Hercules and Iolaus, however, the god was frowning. "At least that's what I thought," he said sourly. "But now I overhear that these feelings aren't even real, that the whole thing is just some sinister spell of Poseidon's." The god frowned and reached over the bar to pour himself a hefty mug of ale. "Needless to say, I am not pleased."

 

Hercules frowned at his father, perplexed. "So you didn't know about the spell?"

 

"Of course not," Zeus chuckled humorlessly. "I fell in love with a beautiful young girl. What's to question?" He took a long draught of ale and, finding his moustache full of foam, surreptitiously appropriated the cloak of the man sitting next to him to wipe it off. The man, a portly drunk who had been face-down on the bar since Hercules and Iolaus had arrived, did not appear to object.

 

"Typical." Hercules exhaled sharply through his nose and glowered down at the stained wood of the bar.

 

Giving up on his son, Zeus offered Iolaus an apologetic shrug. "I just want to help," he said.

 

"Who?" Iolaus asked, turning to face the god full-on and folding his arms expectantly. "Yourself?"

 

"Well, yes," Zeus said, wincing slightly at Hercules' snort of outrage. "But you said yourself that you need my cooperation to execute whatever little plan you've concocted." He shrugged matter-of-factly. "I'm prepared to offer it."

 

"And why would you help us?" Hercules demanded. In a strange, twisted way he felt almost grateful for his father's presence. It gave him an outlet for all the weirdness and frustrations and love triangles and visions of Poseidon clad only in a strategically placed starfish and a brightly-colored eel that he had had to put up with since arriving in Ganymede. "What's in it for you?"

 

"Yeah," Iolaus added. "Wasn't it your undue jealousy that started this whole mess in the first place?"

 

The god's expression darkened. "Now, now," he said, "there's no cause for pointing fingers."

 

"That's because we know it's your fault," Iolaus muttered.

 

"Look," snapped Zeus irritably, "do you want this date to happen or not? All you need to know is that I want Ganymede back and I'm willing to do whatever is necessary to make that happen. If that means letting him go on a date with Poseidon..." He scowled as if his brother's name had generated a revolting taste in his mouth and spat in his comatose neighbor's ale. "...then that is what I will do."

 

Acutely aware of his partner's involuntary shudder at the words 'whatever is necessary' Iolaus remained skeptical. Much as he was reluctant to look a gift horse in the mouth, he had seen what happened at Troy and it wasn't pretty. "How do you know that Ganymede will agree?" he demanded. "He made it quite clear to us that he didn't have much interest in a romance with Poseidon."

 

Zeus shook his head slowly, smiling weakly at Iolaus as if he pitied his intellect. "Oh, he'll agree all right. Ganymede would agree to anything if he thought it would vex me." The god pounded his fist impatiently on the bar, producing a shower of sparks. "Now just go and call him before I change my mind."

 

Hercules sighed and looked at his partner. Though incredibly leery of taking this too-freely given offer of help from his father, Hercules did not see that they had much choice. He and Iolaus had gone over the problem again and again and the best method they had come up with for dispelling Poseidon's Ganymede fixation was to make the god regret what he had wished for. And to do that required the cooperation of Zeus. Iolaus seemed to be of the same mind, as he nodded at him encouragingly. Hercules looked at the god skeptically. "Just call him?"

 

"Of course. The barrier might prevent him from leaving town but he can get around well enough within the confinement. Give him a yell."

 

With a dubious frown, Hercules strolled over to a nearby window and leaned out, shouting Ganymede's name in the general direction of his palace. Iolaus leaned against the bar and took a quick swig of his ale, noticing in his peripheral vision that Zeus was smiling at him.

 

"Nice pants," said the god, to which Iolaus rolled his eyes, bottomed out his tankard, and followed Zeus' example of reaching behind the bar to acquire his own refill.

 

He was easily halfway into his ale when Hercules returned from the window looking thirsty and distinctly peeved. He snatched up his mug and took a long drink before speaking. "There's no sign of him," he said hoarsely. "I had a feeling he wouldn't come."

 

"Nonsense," Zeus insisted. "He'll turn up. You must not have called him right. What did you do?"

 

"I used the customary god-summoning procedure," Hercules said defensively.

 

"It's pretty standard," Iolaus added. "One: Face location of god. Two: Take deep breath. Three: Yell 'insert god's name here' as loudly as possible."

 

"No, no, no," Zeus said disdainfully, clucking his tongue. "Don't you boys know *anything* about attracting men?" With a huffy sigh, he got up from his stool and took a few steps forward. Drawing himself up to his full height, he primly smoothed the front of his robe and took a deep breath. "Oooh," he drawled at last. "Fashion victim!"

 

Hercules covered his face with his hand. He had lived his whole life without knowing that the king of the gods could make himself sound *that* catty and effeminate and had been more than happy to continue doing so. Before he could spare too much lament for ignorant bliss cut down before its time, however, Ganymede materialized wearing an expression of wicked delight and an ivy green mini-toga that was all the rage on the Roman catwalks. His posture was that of a man fully intent upon looking shocked and scandalized by some hapless citizen's gruesome misuse of a sarong.

 

For a few moments, the handsome immortal blinked about the tavern in search of the accused. His face fell somewhat at the banal inoffensiveness of the patrons' garb until he spied Hercules, whose expression was still in the midst of transforming from troubled to impressed.

 

"Tragic," murmured Ganymede with a grim shake of his head.

 

At this juncture Iolaus stepped forward to the defense of his partner. "You know, you *liked* our outfits earlier today," he sniped, folding his arms petulantly.

 

Ganymede rolled his eyes. "Well of *course* I did, honey buns, and *you* still look FABulous but beef-stick over here with his blouse all un-tucked and wrinkly is spoiling my view." He raised a hand to his forehead tragically, pretending to swoon before sternly adding, "An ass that nice should never, *ever* be thusly obscured. It is criminal, I tell you."

 

It took a great deal of self-restraint for Iolaus to avoid voicing his agreement with this statement but, he imagined, not nearly so much as it was taking Hercules to keep from leaping forward and pounding Ganymede down to the level of his gold-studded platform sandals.

 

"And speaking of criminal," Ganymede continued, recovering from his trauma with uncanny resilience, "was it *you*, Hercules, who perpetrated that distasteful - not to mention cruel - false fashion alarm? I must warn you not to trifle with that sort of thing. What if you have a real fashion emergency someday and no one will believe you?" He considered for a moment, twirling a finger thoughtfully through one of his impeccable golden ringlets. "Although I suppose after prancing around in the same pair of pants for the last decade you've earned yourself a permanent spot on the Style Charity short-list. What are they made from anyway? The pelts of all the man-eating baskets you've slaughtered?"

 

Hercules swallowed his retort, congratulating himself on how quickly he had honed his ability to ignore almost everything that Ganymede said. "We're sorry for bothering you," he offered, casting a quick, sidelong glance at his partner, who did not look even remotely contrite, "but we needed to talk."

 

"So talk, pussycat," Ganymede replied, leaning demurely against a nearby pillar and inspecting his nails with a yawn. "Or else stop wasting my time. I was just getting ready to wax, you know."

 

Fighting through his involuntary wince, Hercules took a few steps closer before he continued. He felt strangely self-conscious as Ganymede's raucously flamboyant arrival had silenced every conversation in the tavern and all eyes were now turned upon them. "We wanted to invite you on a date..." he said secretively.

 

At the sight of the immortal's eyes lighting up with delight, Iolaus hastily stepped in with a correction. "Not with us," he pointed out, to Ganymede's obvious dismay, "with Poseidon."

 

With a fleetness that Hermes would have envied, the look of pleasant boredom flew from Ganymede's face. "Poseidon," he reiterated acridly. "You interrupted waxing night to invite me to play whelp and schoolmaster with Poseidon?"

 

"Just dinner," Hercules assured him unconvincingly. "No expectations or... funny business."

 

"So," said Iolaus, skipping right to the material point before Hercules made things worse by babbling through the uncomfortable silence, "will you go?"

 

"To dinner? With Poseidon?!" Ganymede threw up his arms and turned away in disgust. "Of course n..."

 

The precise instant in which the immortal spied Zeus at the bar was excruciatingly obvious as he hastily smoothed down his robes and adopted a regal and unflappable air. "...nnnnoooothing would make me happier," he finished, turning back towards Hercules and Iolaus with a gracious smile.

 

At the bar, Zeus cleared his throat and Ganymede turned to face him as slowly as one might have thought possible. "Oh," he lilted with blatantly artificial surprise, "why it's you. I didn't see you there."

 

"Naturally," Zeus responded with a sly smile. He lifted his mug of ale to his lips, leering across its brim with unfathomable heat. The god maintained intense eye contact until he set the mug down and closed his eyes to savor the mouthful of amber fluid. When he reopened his eyes they were fixed upon Ganymede, slithering down the length of his body unabashedly as his tongue darted out to clear the soft blanket of foam from his upper lip.

 

Hardly eager to observe his father in full-on seduction mode, Hercules averted his eyes towards Ganymede who was staring back at Zeus, mouth slightly agape. And for the first time in his life, the demigod actually felt sorry for the Olympian cup-bearer. The desperate longing was painfully apparent on his face and Hercules, particularly considering his recent unnatural but all-too-real bout of libidinousness, could more than sympathize with how genuinely torturous that feeling was.

 

"What are *you* doing here," Ganymede managed to squeak out at last.

 

As Zeus began to reply, Muriel emerged from the kitchen carrying a tray of stew and brimming ales. He looked back at her meaningfully. "Just a little sightseeing," he said.

 

Ganymede drew back in horror at the sight of the barmaid, hissing and clawing fitfully at the air.

 

Unfazed, Muriel just rolled her eyes and set the tray down on the bar. "I told you yesterday," she sighed, her patience obviously tenuous at best, "I don't want him. You can have him. You can both go to Tartarus in a big, sparkly chariot for all I care." With that, she picked up her tray of drinks and bustled off.

 

"Marvelous," Zeus beamed. "She is absolutely delectable when she's petulant, don't you think?"

 

"I wouldn't know," Ganymede replied coolly.

 

Zeus stood and sauntered over to his spurned lover. "I hear you're going on a date this evening," he said quietly.

 

The young immortal visibly struggled to maintain his composure. "Why yes," he said. "That is, if you're willing to release that silly barrier of yours for long enough for my escort to bring me flowers and candy." There was the distinct hint of desperation in his voice; his tone was as pleading as it was contentious.

 

In contrast, Zeus responded without skipping a beat. "Of course," he replied, reaching over to brush a thumb lovingly down the side of Ganymede's cheek. "Anything to make you happy."

 

Abruptly the god dropped his hand to his side, nearly causing Ganymede, who had been leaning covetously into the contact, to topple over onto the floorboards. Zeus turned to Hercules and Iolaus, suddenly all-business. "You will inform Poseidon of the engagement," he declared. "If he is willing to agree to my terms then he may enter the city at the next low tide." He reached back to draw his hood over his head and turned to leave.

 

Exchanging a quick frown with Iolaus, Hercules stepped forward to halt the god's departure. "Your terms?"

 

Zeus turned around slowly. "Yes," he said simply. "He knows what they are." At that the god vanished, pausing only long enough to blow a parting kiss to a flawlessly-attired but nevertheless dejected Ganymede.

 

*  
*  
*

 

Still somewhat dazed by their encounter with Zeus and his oddly abrupt departure, Hercules and Iolaus wandered back to the bar and stared blankly into their ales. What few other patrons there were paid their tabs hastily and hurried out the door, casting fearful glances at Hercules and Iolaus as they left. Even the man who had been unconscious on the bar managed to wake up in time to make himself scarce.

 

Although Hercules noticed this odd behavior he thought very little of it. He was well accustomed to the phenomenon that townspeople were generally way off the mark in their understanding of inter-immortal social dynamics. Frowning, he drummed his fingers thoughtfully. "How long until low-tide?" he wondered aloud, polishing off his ale and setting the empty tankard upside-down on the knotted wood of the bar.

 

Iolaus considered, squinting at a nearby window that offered him a reasonably good view of the evening sky. "About four fingers of moon," he replied, holding up his hand to approximate the arc the disc would traverse through the heavens. "Not much time."

 

Sighing, Hercules swatted at his mug and set it upright again. "We'd better get down to the beach and give Poseidon the 'good news.'"

 

"Oh, no you don't." Ganymede, who had been slumped morosely against a support beam since Zeus' departure, clomped up to them huffily, his fists firmly planted on his hips.

 

"You already agreed to go," Iolaus reminded him, less than eager to call Zeus back in to enforce the promise and have to endure another extended bout of god-on-immortal eye-fucking.

 

"Oh, I'm going, all right," Ganymede lilted, extracting a non-existent piece of lint from his toga. As he looked at them, his sweet smile turned swiftly wicked. "But so are you."

 

Hercules sat up abruptly, leaving his tankard to clatter to the floor. "Excuse me?"

 

When he had finished shining his nails against his chest Ganymede looked up, genuinely puzzled at the demigod's chagrin. "Look," he said, pouting melodramatically, "I said I'd have dinner with Poseidon but I never agreed to doing it un-chaperoned. There's just no way I would compromise my honor by spending an evening alone with Old Man Grabby-Hands."

 

Miraculously, neither Hercules nor Iolaus inquired as to the nature of this supposed 'honor' for which Ganymede had such pressing concern. They just stared back at him unsure of how to respond, or more accurately, unsure of how they could weasel out of the demand gracefully.

 

"You're coming," Ganymede emphasized intently. "You're coming or I'm not doing it and we'll all be stuck here forever... Well," he amended, scowling at Hercules, "you, me and Zeus, at least. And, golly, won't that be fun?"

 

"Okay," agreed Hercules reluctantly, despite the gestures of hanging, throat-cutting, and ritual suicide that Iolaus was making behind Ganymede's back, "we'll go. But we've still got to let Poseidon in on the plan."

 

"That's your problem," Ganymede sniffed. "But you'd better be at my palace shined, spit-polished, and smelling of roses by the time low-tide rolls around. Otherwise the deal is off." He nodded curtly and emitted a little, victorious, "hmph" before disappearing in a festive shower of confetti.

 

*  
*  
*

 

When Ganymede had vanished, Iolaus looked at his partner skeptically. "Now what?" he asked. "There's no way we can make it all the way down to the beach and back to Ganymede's palace by low tide."

 

Hercules frowned. "We'll have to send a messenger, but it can't be Muriel - she'd risk getting exiled like Oraios. There's her fiancée, Laesus, but considering that a successful date between Ganymede and Poseidon would mean losing his future bride to Zeus, I don't know how cooperative he's likely to be in bringing it about."

 

Tapping his temple, Iolaus released an impatient sigh. They were running out of both time and options. "So who, then?"

 

"Ziliaris, will you just drop it?"

 

This last statement came from the doorway and was soon followed by a very harassed looking Salmoneus. The young guard, Ziliaris, was close behind and was obligated to stoop noticeably as he passed through the low threshold.

 

"I *will* drop it," Ziliaris declared, hovering over the harrowed merchant like a starving vulture, "as soon as you admit that you were flirting with Oraios."

 

"Okay, fine." Salmoneus stopped in his tracks and turned to face Ziliaris only to find his nose squished against the young man's chest. With an exasperated sigh, he craned his neck upwards. "Fine," he muttered. "So maybe I *was* flirting with him but it was perfectly harmless. It was practically a social imperative. Flirting with attractive young men is a fundamental part of the rich tapestry of our Grecian heritage."

 

The guard appeared unconvinced but didn't press the issue further as he had spotted Hercules and Iolaus at the bar. "There they are," he said.

 

"Good," Salmoneus sighed with relief. "They can settle this. Hercules, could you please explain to this mistrustful youth how important to me it is to uphold the rich tapestry of our Grecian heritage?"

 

"Shut up," said Ziliaris, shoving Salmoneus aside and marching up to the bar. "So you managed to find him?" He asked anxiously, "Is the report you sent true? Is he really okay?"

 

"Yeah," Salmoneus chimed in. "Alive? Vaguely alive? Turned into a giant squid? Out with it."

 

Exchanging a meaningful look with his partner, Hercules rose to greet the new arrivals. "Oraios is fine," he assured them. "He just got... caught up in some out of town business."

 

"Well thanks for providing such unambiguous details," Salmoneus snapped, sweeping past the guard to clutch at the demigod's arm. "We've been worried sick all afternoon."

 

Ziliaris glared at him angrily. "What do you mean 'we?'" he demanded. "When I went to find you after my shift you were making time with the cover girl of Geriatrics' Quarterly. You didn't look all that concerned to me."

 

"We each of us cope with the horrors of uncertainty in our own way," Salmoneus retorted. He lowered his voice secretively, leaning in to address Hercules and Iolaus. "I was hysterical with worry on the inside," he assured them. Turning back to Ziliaris, he added, "Besides, I have to look out for my own financial concerns, you know. Your boyfriend is the only link I have to my investors and it never hurts to have a back-up plan in case he doesn't come through. Speaking of which, I'll thank you not to refer to the Countess in such a disrespectful manner. She is far from geriatric. In fact, she's rather sprightly."

 

Clearing his throat abruptly, Ziliaris returned his attention to the two warriors, who had observed this exchange with impatience. "If Oraios is okay then why isn't he with you?" he demanded. "Where is he?"

 

"He's at the lagoon," Hercules answered, keeping his voice soft to counterbalance the edge of panic in the guard's voice. "He's safe but he can't return to the city... not yet, at least."

 

Before the young man could protest or ask for details, Iolaus stepped in. "But you can change that, Ziliaris. We need you to deliver a message to Poseidon as soon as possible. If you can manage to contact him before low-tide then Oraios will be able to reenter the city. Can you help?"

 

Ziliaris stepped forward immediately. "Of course," he said. "Just tell me what to do."

 

*  
*  
*

 

As soon as he had received the instructions to be relayed to Poseidon, Ziliaris took off top speed for the lagoon. While he hadn't been fully appraised of the situation he seemed to appreciate that there could be unpleasant consequences should he fail in his mission. The lanky youth had gravely vowed to die before being deterred from his promised task and marched determinedly out the door, pausing briefly to gloat to Salmoneus that he and Oraios would be having marvelous sex on a romantic, moonlit beach in the very near future.

 

When Ziliaris had gone, Hercules and Iolaus turned back to the bar, grateful for the timely good fortune of his arrival at the tavern but less than thrilled about having the sudden leisure to focus on the impending misery of their engagement with Ganymede and Poseidon. Somewhat awkwardly, Salmoneus sat down beside them, twiddling his fingers and wondering what he was supposed to do with himself while everyone else was off on their sexy, super-secret missions. After a brief stretch of silence, Iolaus gave up on the prospect of Muriel's eventual return and reached over the bar to pour himself and Hercules another round of ale. Salmoneus reached out eagerly to accept one of the tankards before he realized that neither of them were for him.

 

"So," he began conversationally, picking up a nearby mug and peering into it, only to set it down again when he found it was empty, "It'll be nice when all this business with Poseidon is worked out so we can get back to rehearsals, eh? I think you two are really going to appreciate the new script I've worked out."

 

Noticing that this statement had induced Hercules to lay his head perfunctorily on the bar, Iolaus voiced his objection on both of their behalves. "You're not really expecting us to go through with this play of yours, are you?" As amused as he had initially been by the explicit advertisements Salmoneus had distributed about the town, the reality of actually having to participate had significantly less humorous charm. "We never agreed to take part in an all-nude revue."

 

"You never agreed *not* to take part in one," Salmoneus helpfully noted.

 

Hercules lifted his head from the bar long enough to growl, "Forget it, Sal."

 

"Can't you find someone *else*?" Iolaus was beginning to grow angry at the fact that Salmoneus could not seem to appreciate that he and Hercules had more important things to worry about. "Someone who would actually like doing something like this? What about Gabrielle? She'd probably fall for the 'pioneering a new genre of dramatic arts' con job right off the bat. And you know as well as I do that she could talk Xena into anything."

 

"First of all," said Salmoneus haughtily, "it is not a 'con job.' It's more of a 'shtick.' And second of all, do you actually believe I would have come to you guys if I could find anyone else? How endearingly misguided of you."

 

"I suppose you wouldn't have wanted to trouble us," Hercules scoffed, his voice muffled from speaking into the crook of his elbow.

 

"Yeah," Salmoneus laughed. "That's it. Look, no offense but what I was really looking for was: sex! chemistry! heat! And - at least until the little floor show you gave me this morning - I had always considered you two about as sexy as a worn-out, muddy left sandal."

 

Iolaus sighed. This wasn't the first time he had heard the accusation. "Jason says we're like an old married couple."

 

"You're worse than an old married couple," the merchant declared emphatically. "You're an old married couple that gets along."

 

Moments later Muriel emerged from the kitchen, peering perplexedly about the deserted tavern. "Where did everyone go?"

 

"I think my father frightened them off," Hercules replied irritably.

 

The barmaid scoffed. "Yeah, well we're getting pretty used to that. Get a couple of ales in Zeus and he'll start a fight with anyone that says something bad about Ganymede, or good about him, or bad about me, or... you get the picture."

 

Hercules scowled as Iolaus muttered, "I can't say that I'm surprised," and reached out to cover Salmoneus' mouth before he could chastise Muriel for failing to capitalize on her out-of-control celebrity clientele.

 

"He's usually pretty cooperative when we throw him out," she replied with a shrug. Her eyes made another sweep of the tavern, confirming that Ganymede had also departed. "So, did you patch things up between him and Her Royal Highness, Queen Bitch?"

 

"Not yet, but we will," Iolaus said confidently. "Assuming Poseidon agrees to Zeus' terms we're just a double-date from Tartarus away from setting thing straight."

 

"Terms?" said Muriel sharply, leaning across the bar with narrowed eyes and set jaw. "And what terms would those be?"

 

Iolaus shrugged. "That's Poseidon's problem."

 

Shaking her head in furious disbelief, the barmaid pounded her fists on the bar, her voice trembling. "It's *all* of our problems," she hissed. "You realize, don't you, that *I* am part of those terms? If your little plan doesn't work I'm consigned to a life of sexual servitude." She shuddered and, noticing that Salmoneus had finally managed to find himself a drink, snatched it away from him and guzzled it down.

 

"That's just perfect," murmured Hercules. He glared down at his partner, who had already launched into a string of expletives under his breath. "Why didn't we force him to explain the terms?"

 

"Because we assumed they'd be about land or bragging rights..." Iolaus shrugged wearily, "Because Zeus left before we could ask him... Because we're complete, fucking idiots."

 

"I'll take Delta: all of the above." Salmoneus clucked his tongue. "I can't believe you two arranged something like that without checking the fine print. Have I taught you *nothing*?"

 

Iolaus sighed; he couldn't even justify a retort. Salmoneus was right. Hercules, meanwhile, had adopted his, 'I'm really, really pissed at myself and now everyone else is going to suffer,' face. Resignedly, Iolaus pushed his ale over to an eager Salmoneus. "We were pretty dumb," he admitted.

 

"Sure were," agreed Salmoneus brightly, inhaling the aroma of the long-awaited beverage with a satisfied smile, "but not as dumb as you'd have to be to agree to go on a double-date with Poseidon and Ganymede without pre-establishing the terms to *that*..."

 

"The terms to *that*," Hercules growled, rising suddenly and upsetting his stool. "Are that Poseidon and Ganymede behave themselves or I beat the crap out of everyone involved... Except Iolaus. And possibly myself." Startled by the noise, Salmoneus spilled his ale down the front of his robe. Finished with his outburst, Hercules righted his stool and plunked himself back down upon it.

 

"Easy, Herc, this isn't Sal's fault," Iolaus said quietly, sliding Hercules' ale down the bar to replace the one Salmoneus had spilled. "Look, the stakes are raised so we'll just have to make sure we don't fail. We'll do it for Muriel."

 

"And don't forget Oraios," the barmaid added. "If your plan doesn't work he could wind up exiled from Ganymede forever."

 

At this remark, Salmoneus spat out his mouthful of ale. Muriel rolled her eyes and wrenched the tankard away from him irritably. "No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no!" the merchant stammered, a panic rising in his voice. "No, you've got to get him back."

 

Hercules, who had spent the time since his outburst glaring darkly at the wall, turned suddenly to Sal. "He's in love with Ziliaris. Get over it."

 

"No, that's not it at all!" Salmoneus shook his head, his eyebrows knitting in consternation. "My interest in him is purely financial; Oraios is the only link I have to my investors. If he doesn't put me in touch with them for some capital soon I'll be torn limb from limb by a swarm of starving, furious, and, frankly, untalented actors! Have you seen what these people do to critics?" His eyes widened with horror. "It's a fate worse than death."

 

"Well you'd better start running, then," Muriel spat, "because there are no investors."

 

His face instinctively snapping to the broad, artificial grin that typically signaled his deepest level of despair, Salmoneus quietly said, "What?"

 

"There are no investors," she repeated. "My brother made the whole thing up. It was all just a scheme so you would invite Hercules and Iolaus here to sort this all out." Tossing her crimson locks, Muriel turned to the warriors with an irritated expression. "He absolutely idolizes you two," she said, unimpressed. "Although I can't imagine why given the way you've   
managed to cock this one up." Her anger was clearly starting to rise as she snatched up a dishtowel and started to ring it to shreds. "Now if you'll excuse me, I've got some dishes to do." With a final, contemptuous roll of her eyes at Salmoneus, she pocketed what was left of her dishtowel and stormed away.

 

Iolaus looked up at Hercules dubiously when Muriel had vanished from view. "Still infatuated?"

 

"I think her initial charm is beginning to fade," the demigod replied quietly.

 

Finally recovering from the barmaid's shocking revelation to the extent that he could speak, Salmoneus rose from this stool. "Please excuse me," he muttered, "but I've got pressing business at the lagoon, where a conniving young pretty-boy is in desperate need of throttling. Enjoy your date. Good night." He smiled weakly at the space about four paces behind them and strode determinedly out of the tavern.

 

*  
*  
*

 

"Stop fussing with it," Iolaus muttered as they were led through the atrium doors of Ganymede's palace by a recalcitrant, androgynous servant, "you'll only make it worse." He frowned at Hercules, who was pulling irritably at the neckline of his shirt in a vain attempt to make it sit right. For some reason the demigod had been very insistent that they wash up and make themselves presentable for their dinner with Poseidon and Ganymede. After an extended debate on the subject Iolaus had begrudgingly agreed, despite being thoroughly unconvinced by his partner's argument that proper attire would somehow contribute to the success of their plan. He had furthermore categorically refused to shave.

 

With a defeated sigh, Hercules abandoned his attentions to the collar but ran his hands nervously through his hair. "How are my pants?" he asked anxiously, glancing over his shoulder to investigate. "They're not torn anywhere, are they?" He had discovered a formidable rend in his shirt as they were getting ready and had been swept with paranoia as to the structural integrity of his pants.

 

"You look fine," Iolaus muttered, unable to believe that he was suddenly being expected to coddle and reassure the world's strongest man. "Now will you relax? It's weird enough having to go on a double date with your dad's boyfriend and your drippy uncle without you having a nervous breakdown about your personal appearance." He took a deep, calming breath as they emerged into the moonlit courtyard and made a concerted effort not to let the intoxicating fragrances or the beauty of the evening sky deter his irritability. Ever silent, the servant led them away from the extensive walkways of the main portico onto the elegant flat stones of a path that took them to the center of the gardens. "I still don't understand why we have to be here at all, let alone dressed to the hilt. Who the hell does Ganymede think he is, anyway?"

 

"So I prefer a little frosting on my beefcake," came a sing-song voice from the center of a pattern of low-hedged rose bushes, perfectly manicured into an oval spiral, "but with so much eye candy to be had, can you really blame me?"

 

Ganymede stood at the center of the spiral and raised a small, crystal glass to toast them, lips curled into a decadent smile. He had changed outfits again since they had last seen him and was now garbed in a flowing shirt of exquisite silk and wide, sweeping sleeves whose deep pink hue precisely matched the roses that surrounded him. His pants where pearl-white, embroidered up the sides with finely detailed ivy and punctuated with sparkling green and pink gems. These same stones glinted from a simple but elegant choker about his neck. There was no doubt in Iolaus' mind that the immortal had had this outfit specifically designed for social engagements in the rose garden.

 

"Welcome," he said grandly as Hercules and Iolaus navigated their way to the center of the oval, where a lavish feast had been spread out upon a marble table. "You're early. Unfashionable but reliable. I would have expected nothing less from Zeus' favorite son and his faithful hottie/sidekick." He sauntered over to the far side of the patio where a small bar, also marble, had been scrupulously outfitted with every drink imaginable. "Wine?" he suggested, picking up an ornate crystal decanter without waiting for a response. He swirled the ruby liquid and breathed in its vapors before pouring two full goblets.

 

"I hope you don't mind my serving you myself," he continued, expertly balancing the goblets between the fingers of his right hand, "but I've been feeling somewhat nostalgic for my duties as of late." He strolled around the tables and extended the chalices to his guests. As they accepted their drinks, he reached forward to clink his own small glass, brimming with an unidentifiable clear liquid, against theirs.

 

"Let's cut to the chase here," Iolaus said gruffly. "What are you hoping to accomplish this evening? You're obviously doing this to make Zeus jealous but since he's the one who approved the date in the first place there doesn't seem to be much point."

 

Ganymede's amiable smile faded. "Oh," he sniped, "done with the small talk, now, are we?"

 

Iolaus folded his arms and waited.

 

With a toss of his head that made his curls bounce hypnotically in the moonlight, Ganymede wandered to the far side of the patio. Thoughtfully, he contemplated a large olive tree just beyond the rose bushes where the golden eagle, impressively quick to make itself a permanent fixture in the immortal's household, was regally perched. "I'm doing this to make a point," Ganymede declared, turning around at last to face his guests. He swaggered back towards them, his visage a mixture of tragedy and scorn. "I don't know *what* Zeus thinks he's doing getting infatuated with that little tramp, Manilla, if that really *is* her name..."

 

"Actually," Hercules pointed out stiffly, "it's Melite... or Muriel." While he had managed to get his improbable affection for the barmaid under control, Ganymede's callous disdain for her did not fail to summon a surge of bile in the back of his throat.

 

"Aha," Ganymede replied, a triumphant gleam in his eyes. "Just as I suspected. She's a confidence trickster. No doubt she's in cahoots with that Salmonella villain."

 

"Salmoneus."

 

"So he's been working under a false name too? I'm not surprised. Poor Zeus, they'll probably rob him blind but it will serve him right for allowing himself to become so easily ensnared. He has to understand that while I'll allow for a scoche of dilly-dallying here and there, in the end he must remain committed only to me."

 

The demigod raised his eyebrows skeptically. "What about Hera?"

 

"Oh please, Hercules," Ganymede laughed derisively. "You may be Daddy's little princess, and Hera may be his wife, but *I* am his *queen*."

 

"And a fine royal figure you cut, I must say."

 

The trio turned around abruptly to find Poseidon standing on the calm waters of the large fountain on the seaward perimeter of the roses. He bowed gallantly to Ganymede, nearly losing his balance and pitching head-first into the fountain. "It is a true delight to finally meet you."

 

Ganymede leapt backwards and pressed a hand to his heart. "Never do that again," he gasped. "You nearly scared me out of my eyelashes." He squinted at the god distastefully as he stepped out of the fountain and began navigating his way through the hedge maze. "Okay, just a couple of preliminary comments. Alpha: the comb-over? Lose it. We all know you're bald, lamb chop, and we don't appreciate your ruse. Beta: sea monster gray is *so* not your color. You're a Spring. Release your inner fuchsia. Gamma - and this is the most important one - honey, ruling deities may come and go but etiquette will never, ever, *ever* go out of style."

 

Poseidon knit his brow and glanced over at Hercules in hope of a translation. The demigod shook his head sympathetically as if to reassure him about the fallacy of the sleights Ganymede had made on his appearance. Finding this reaction of little help he turned to Iolaus, who merely rolled his eyes and shrugged. Hopelessly, the god of the sea looked blankly at his host, who was more than willing to elucidate.

 

"Hi, okay, have you ever heard of a wacky little tradition called 'knocking?'"

 

Registering the inquiry but not quite able to relate it to Ganymede's previous accusation of poor etiquette, Poseidon face took on a troubled expression. "In the ocean we do not have doors..."

 

"Did I ask for your life story? No. So save it." There was a lengthy pause as Ganymede attempted, with a series of hand signals and the occasional jerk of his head, to lure Hercules and Iolaus into the conversation. That failed, he heaved a resigned sigh. "Well let's get this over with. Who wants a drink? I know I do." Looking down at his brimming glass, he threw it back in a single gulp. "Oops. Mine's empty. Better have another one. Anyone else?"

 

Iolaus shook his head absently but Hercules, who had downed his glass at Ganymede's "Daddy's little princess" remark followed the immortal to the bar with a look of relief.

 

"Just water for me," Poseidon droned before smiling weakly at Iolaus. "I think this is going well," he whispered, "don't you?"

 

Iolaus laughed weakly at this, edging slightly away as he nodded in ersatz agreement and suddenly regretting his failure to request another drink.

 

When Ganymede and Hercules returned a few moments later, Poseidon accepted his water with a warm smile and awkwardly repeated, "It's a pleasure to meet you."

 

"Charmed, I'm sure," said Ganymede tersely, holding out his hand for Poseidon to kiss and grimacing overtly when he did so. He turned to Iolaus and, shielding the side of his mouth with as little subtlety as possible, mouthed the word "slimy."

 

Iolaus snorted involuntarily at this, raising his chalice to conceal his amusement. He found himself considering that this could turn out to be an enjoyable evening after all; it was looking like Ganymede would sabotage the date just fine by himself with no need for intervention from him and Hercules.

 

Pleased to have made Iolaus lose his composure, Ganymede chuckled softly and took a dainty sip of his drink.

 

Poseidon frowned at this. "You're not drinking wine?" he asked sharply.

 

"Of course not," Ganymede declared, making a distasteful face. "I never touch the stuff - because of my job, you know. When you're around something all day everyday you get sick at the sight of it." He shot Poseidon a look that absolutely demanded sympathy. "I mean, you don't go home at night and settle in with a nice tall glass of seawater, do you?" The subsequent silence was so painful that even the eagle shifted uncomfortably on its perch. "Oh god," gasped Ganymede, horror struck at the realization. "You do, don't you?"

 

But the god of the sea either ignored the question or did not hear it because his only response was to stare into space, shaking his head in disbelief. "No wonder," he murmured.

 

Affronted by Poseidon's failure to respond, Ganymede snapped his fingers irritably in front of the god's face. "Yoo hoo," he said sharply. "Paying attention to *me* time now, here." He sniffed haughtily. "If this is your idea of wooing I am severely unimpressed."

 

Brought back to the present by Ganymede's shrill outrage, Poseidon fixed him with a deeply apologetic smile. "Please forgive me," he begged. "I was just... captivated by your charm. The full impact of your beauty in this..." he gestured uncertainly at the immortal's ensemble, "this... Well, you look absolutely ravishing."

 

Ganymede raised his eyebrows. "Now *this* I could get used to," he said, throwing Hercules and Iolaus an impressed smile. "Certain other gods *never* compliment me on my fashion sense."

 

"And I almost forgot," Poseidon added, injecting as much life into his sluggish monotone as he could possibly spare. "I would not be so uncouth as to arrive at your palace empty-handed." At a faint wave of his hand an ornate silver table appeared. At its center was a short, wide-brimmed bowl of rose colored crystal that contained a healthy supply of water and a rather unappealing brown rock. Ganymede looked unimpressed.

 

"Go ahead," said Poseidon, his dull eyes attempting to sparkle with anticipation. "Look inside."

 

Dubious, Ganymede approached the table, crinkling his nose at the unsightly object in the bowl. Despite the gift's fundamentally repellant nature, however, he was curious enough to dip his finger into the water, pulling it back almost immediately with a gasp of delight as the rock sprung to life with color and a vivid bouquet emerged from its surface. When he had recovered from the surprise he cooed in amazement at the vibrant, undulating tendrils and the feather-like blossoms that swayed gently in the still water. "What are they?" he asked in amazement.

 

"Mostly anemones and plume worms," Poseidon said proudly as he waddled over to the table, "but there are a few juvenile basket stars roaming around if you look closely."

 

Ganymede squinted at the offering in amazement. "Are those the things that look like doilies?"

 

The god smiled, inclining his head slightly, and Ganymede gazed back at Hercules and Iolaus in awe. "This one's a keeper," he remarked. "I can't remember the last time *Zeus* brought me... ah... worms and doilies."

 

"There's more," Poseidon added with a pleased smile. He nodded towards the silver tray beneath the bowl and suddenly it was stacked with shimmering shells.

 

"Oysters." Iolaus rolled his eyes. "Could this guy be any cheesier?" He looked up at Hercules for confirmation but the demigod was occupied, gazing at Poseidon with a far-off smile.

 

"And this one is reserved especially for you," Poseidon continued when Ganymede had finished clapping with glee. Atop the piles of half-shells, a solitary oyster remained closed. The god picked it up and presented it to the abashed immortal. Ganymede accepted it and squealed with delight as the oyster obligingly opened to reveal an enormous pearl. When he picked it up he found that it was set in an elegant golden band and immediately slipped it onto his ring finger, holding out his hand to admire it.

 

"Nice touch," he said earnestly, flashing Poseidon a flirtatious smile. "But you should know that trinkets alone are not enough to lure me away from Zeus."

 

"I only wish to make you happy," Poseidon said softly. "But if I may make a humble request... would you do me the honor of drinking a glass of wine, in tribute to our new friendship?"

 

"I will if you will," Ganymede smirked, handing his small tumbler to Iolaus and sallying to acquire two more chalices from the bar. When he returned he raised his glass in toast to Poseidon and took a long, deep drink. He issued a moan of pleasure at the flavor and closed his eyes as if intent upon enjoying the wine with the entirety of his being. When at last his eyes fluttered open again they fell immediately upon Poseidon and darkened with intense desire.

 

The god of the sea smiled smugly as Ganymede licked his lips. "Good wine, isn't it?" he remarked, swirling the liquid contemplatively in his own goblet.

 

"It's marvelous," Ganymede replied, somewhat dazed. His gaze flitted over to Iolaus, who still held his other drink. "Pour out that licorice swill that Zeus brings me," he instructed. With a sly smile he sidled up to Poseidon. "Ganymede has a new sugar daddy."

 

Hercules frowned, gazing at Ganymede with an odd sense of recognition. Iolaus considered the couple with confusion and the growing realization that their plan to divert Poseidon's interest away from Ganymede had somehow gone horribly awry. He took a long drink of his wine which, though excellent, in no way merited the orgasmic delight with which it had been received by the handsome immortal.

 

"I hope," said Poseidon softly to Ganymede as he welcomed him into his embrace, "that you can now understand the depth of my affection. Zeus' barrier prevented us from meeting face-to-face so I reached out to you in the only way I knew how. The wine of this town is made from seawater. It is saturated with my passion for you."

 

At this, Iolaus spit out the large mouthful of wine he had been swishing from cheek to cheek, soaking a good part of the dining table and a better part of his partner. Wide-eyed, he glared at Poseidon in horror.

 

Calmly dabbing his wine-soaked face with the collar of his shirt, Hercules leaned in and whispered, "I think that was a metaphor for the magic."

 

"Oh," Iolaus whispered back uncertainly, putting a hand to his chest. He looked down at his goblet dubiously. "You're sure it was just the magic he was talking about?"

 

"Of course it was the magic," Ganymede snapped defensively, clinging to his new suitor, "what else could he use to saturate..." A look of intrigue suddenly crossed his face and his eyebrows flew up. "Oooh," he giggled, swatting the god playfully. "Kinky."

 

Poseidon frowned in confusion. "What are you...?" When Ganymede bent down to whisper in his ear his eyes widened with horror. "No, of course it was just the magic," he said, appalled, "Aphrodite owed me a favor so I called it in." He grimaced at Ganymede and muttered, "That's disgusting."

 

Determined to keep his promise to Melite and prevent this improbable union, Hercules handed his goblet to Iolaus and stepped forward determinedly. "Ganymede," he said firmly. "Aren't you listening to this? These feelings you're having for Poseidon are not real. They're part of a magic spell that has thrown this entire town into hormone-induced chaos. He's trapped you here, wantonly kidnapped the citizens that have sworn allegiance to you, and tricked you into falling in love with him. He's a manipulating bastard. Doesn't that bother you even a little bit?"

 

Ganymede shrugged and snuggled closer to Poseidon, his smile wavering only slightly at the oily imprint the god's hair left on the shoulder of his shirt. "I think it's endearing," he said defiantly. "Zeus never threw an entire city into chaos just to please me. Nope. From now on, Poseidon's my man."

 

Hercules threw a desperate look back to his partner but Iolaus just shrugged uncertainly. The demigod swore under his breath. It was bad enough that he had not connected the wine to the odd behavior of the people of the town, and himself in particular, but to have underestimated Poseidon's deviousness was inexcusable. He had allowed himself to be taken in by the god's pathetic exterior and let his unnatural attraction jade his awareness of his motives. A rustling beyond the rose bushes drew his attention to the olive tree, where the golden eagle was becoming increasingly agitated and Hercules was struck with sudden inspiration. It was a long shot but he had to play up his hunch.

 

"Congratulations, Poseidon," he said, adopting as sincere a smile as he could muster. "You've won. You've beaten my father fair and square. But I'm sure he'll be more than happy to settle his affection on Melite, knowing that the better god has earned the prize."

 

This statement did not sit well with either Ganymede, whose eyes flashed with jealous fury, or Poseidon, who clenched his fists at the thought of his philandering brother running off with his favorite niece. However, no one was more perturbed by Hercules' words than the eagle, who came shrieking out of the olive tree, claws extended.

 

Ganymede jumped back, terrified, and Poseidon threw up a hand in defense, erecting a barely-visible shield that shimmered wanly in the moonlight. The eagle pulled up sharply to avoid the barrier and then vanished in a shower of golden sparkles. An instant later, Zeus was in their midst.

 

"What are *you* doing here," Ganymede hissed. Despite his furious expression, his eyes sparkled with pleasure at the prospect of being fought over.

 

"I've come to rescue you from this charlatan," Zeus said darkly, extending a hand to pull Ganymede away from Poseidon. "He has contrived to gain your affections with unfair means. He doesn't love you the way I do.  
He just wants you to prove a point."

 

"Well, I never," Ganymede gasped in affront. "That is a fine how-do-you-do. Are you implying that I am not desirable enough to deserve his affections? Hmmm? Hmmm?"

 

Poseidon, flushed with fury from the moment of Zeus' arrival, folded his arms and glared at the god. Throughout the courtyard, fountains erupted into a boil. "Treachery!" he hissed. The sky shook with thunder, which only momentarily masked a low, horrible rumbling in the distance. All eyes turned seaward. While the broad courtyard was situated too far below the rising tiers of Ganymede's palace to provide a prospect of the ocean, it was clear that something big, something sinister, was transpiring in Poseidon's domain. They did not have to wait long to learn what that something was.

 

Moments later a monstrous shape sprang up beyond the south wall of the courtyard. It was a wave of water, black as ink against the starry sky; an impossibly huge wave that towered over the mountains and blacked out the moon. As it rose higher and higher it was clear that this single wave had the power to wash away the entire town, including the palace itself. For a sickening instant it hung in the air, poised to strike, and then crashed to earth with a boom that made the floor beneath them quake violently. The crystal goblets on Ganymede's bar clattered against each other unharmonically but the water did not touch them. With the exception of Poseidon, who took a calm sip of wine with a self-congratulatory smile, the entire party gaped dumbstruck up at the sky. The wave had hit Zeus' dome and come to a halt but it had not receded. The entire town was trapped, surrounded by a watery prison. The moon's distorted light filtered down and cast an eerie illumination over the courtyard. "Your presence here," said Poseidon quietly, "was not part of the deal."

 

"Neither was poisoning Ganymede with that wine of yours," Zeus spat back, calm with composed fury despite Poseidon's demonstration of power. "Nor was tricking *me* into falling for your niece in order to distract me. Very crafty, making me more keen on her by pretending to object."

 

"I never intended for you to become infatuated with Melite," Poseidon declared. "That was just a happy accident. And while I can think of many more preferable mates for my niece - the Hideous Hebredean Eel, for example - I will willingly grant her to you now that I have Ganymede." He tightened his embrace of the immortal. "We will be very happy, won't we, my dear?"

 

Ganymede, however, looked shaken to his core. He turned his eyes to the liquid ceiling that threatened to crush his beloved town and then glanced down at the innocuous-looking god that had brought it about. The thought process ran clearly across his face: one god had the power to destroy them while the strength of the other had prevented it. And yet, if Zeus were to become upset he could easily retract the barrier and abandon them all to their watery fate. "Well..." he began uncertainly, looking first at Zeus, robed in opulent scarlet velvet with gold satin trim, his silver hair crowned with a ruby-encrusted circlet, and then at Poseidon, whose faded grey cloak hung over his stout form like a rarely laundered kitchen rag. "I don't know." He frowned in confusion. At last he seemed to come to a decision. "Poseidon, honey, do you think I could have a few minutes alone with my ex? You know, for closure?"

 

With a regal nod that befitted the proud victor he was, Poseidon acquiesced. Ganymede strode over to Zeus, ignoring his outstretched arms and dragging him by the ear to the other side of the patio, where they could converse in private.

 

Left alone with Poseidon, Hercules and Iolaus looked at each other nervously and mustered their arguments for defraying the situation.

 

"Poseidon," Iolaus began somewhat cautiously, as if the god might burst into flames at any moment, "are you sure this is what you want? I mean, Ganymede is good looking and all but beyond that..." lacking a more accurate expression, he just shrugged meaningfully.

 

"You deserve better," Hercules added, a comment which earned him a questioning look from his partner.

 

"Well," the god admitted, gazing across the patio to where Ganymede was evidently giving Zeus more pieces of his mind than an outside observer might have suspected he had, "I admit that he isn't all that I had hoped for." He looked at Hercules and Iolaus with a consternated frown. "Frankly, I didn't expect him to be quite so... festive. I prefer my men to be a bit more rugged and adventuresome." He shook his head disappointedly. "The high seas are no place for someone continually worried about chipping a nail."

 

"There. You see?" Iolaus stepped forward, glad that this line of attack seemed to be working but still distinctly unnerved by the enormous weight of watery death that hung, literally, over his head. "Surely there's someone better out there for you."

 

"Perhaps," Poseidon mused, tapping his chin thoughtfully.

 

From across the patio, it was apparent that Zeus had finally entered the discussion as snippets of conversation came drifting over on the fragrant breeze. "I promise, baby, she meant nothing to me," the god was insisting. "It was the wine, I swear."

 

"On the other hand," Poseidon continued, "look at the way he's standing up to my brother. I *do* have a soft spot for feisty blonds. And Zeus deserves to be put in his place after this eagle-in-disguise debacle. I demand recompense." As his anger rose in this last statement, the barrier above them groaned under the pressing weight of the water. "No," he continued, "I definitely think I'll stick with Ganymede. He'll toughen up in time." The god looked at the warriors meaningfully. "Unless you can make me a better offer." He winked at Iolaus, who swallowed uncomfortably. "I *did* mention my soft spot for feisty blonds, right?"

 

Nostrils flaring, Hercules began to step forward, anxious to take whatever action might be necessary to put any and all unacceptable notions of Ganymede substitutes out of Poseidon's head. His attempted objection was foiled, however, as he was abruptly jerked back into place by Iolaus. Anticipating a Hercules-initiated escalation after Poseidon's last remark, he had placed a hand firmly on the waistband on the demigod's pants. He genuinely hoped that, when confronted with the choice between losing his temper and keeping his dignity, Hercules would make the sensible decision. When Hercules relaxed and lowered his guard, Iolaus offered him a quick pat on the ass by way of a reward and smiled stupidly at Poseidon, hoping that feigning cluelessness would save him from further consideration.

 

A few moments later the murmur of heated discussion across the patio died down and Ganymede called out brightly. "Oh Poseidon? Could you come over here for a moment? There's something really important we would like to ask you."

 

"Great," Hercules grumbled as Poseidon took leave of them with a polite bow. "He's after *you* now."

 

Iolaus rubbed his chin thoughtfully as the god joined the others. "Still," he mused, "it means he'll consider negotiating. That's something, I guess."

 

"It's ironic," said Hercules. "All these weeks he's been trolling the populace to offer Zeus a suitable replacement for Ganymede and now he's in need of the same service for himself. Melite was right. He's far too stubborn to just give up on Ganymede. The only way out of this is to use the old bait and switch."

 

Unwilling to go through the argument yet again, Iolaus decided to let the misnomer slide. "Fine," he said, "but who's the bait?"

 

Hercules looked at him thoughtfully for a moment, then started to speak but changed his mind, sighing in disappointment. Across the patio, Poseidon's voice rose out in affront. "Absolutely out of the question," he bellowed. "I am *not* that kind of god."

 

"The real problem here," said Iolaus once the excitement had died down, "is that whoever we use as bait needs to be willing to go the distance. And, despite the rampant love-octahedrons in this town, *no one* is interested in Poseidon."

 

Clearing his throat awkwardly, Hercules dropped his gaze to the floor and fussed with the collar of his shirt. "Well that's not technically true..."

 

"You don't mean... Oh no. That fucking spell." He shuddered. "That's disgusting."

 

The demigod looked up, wounded. "You think *I'm* happy about this? You're lucky. You only got hit with the shiny, happy, sex, sex, and more sex part of the spell but I'm screwed. Anyone affiliated with Zeus who drinks that wine is doomed to a lifetime of Poseidon-related wet dreams. Do you know how depressing that is?" He sighed morosely and added, "You know, Iolaus, if we don't find a way out of this I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to kill me. The only thing worse than spending the rest of my life pining after Poseidon is spending the rest of my life pining after Poseidon while trapped with him under an invisible shield."

 

Iolaus snapped his fingers, suddenly smiling excitedly. "That's it!" he said.

 

"I was being sarcastic," Hercules grumbled. "I don't want you to kill me. Drug and lobotomize? Maybe. But you don't need to kill me."

 

"No," said Iolaus, "I think I know how to invoke the old switcheroo. If Poseidon wants macho and adventuresome, we'll give him macho and adventuresome. Listen up."

 

A short while later they approached the trio of immortals, where Zeus and Ganymede were deeply engrossed in relating something to a horrified looking Poseidon.

 

"... so then *you* would play the role of goat merchant," Ganymede was eagerly explaining, "while Zeus is the unsuspecting Roman tourist while *I*..."

 

Iolaus cleared his throat, interrupting Ganymede to Poseidon's immense gratification. "Gentlemen," he said, "I think I may have the solution to our little dilemma." Immediately, all parties were at full attention. Even Ganymede, who had been visibly put out by the interruption, raised his eyebrows curiously.

 

"Zeus wants to win Ganymede back and Poseidon demands apt compensation for his deceit. Therefore, I propose an exchange of assets," Iolaus declared. He turned to Poseidon with a flare of salesmanship of which Salmoneus would have been proud. "How would you, Poseidon, like to have the son of Zeus as your new, devoted companion?"

 

Poseidon raised his eyebrows and looked Hercules up and down before turning his gaze dubiously on Iolaus. "I'm listening."

 

*  
*  
*

 

"Were you always this much of a genius?" Unable to help himself, Hercules clasped Iolaus into a powerful bear hug. Having negotiated a solution that was suitable to all parties involved they found themselves departing Ganymede's palace with a sense of accomplishment, a sense of relief, a sense of renewed freedom and, most importantly, a sense that they would never drink another drop of wine as long as they lived.

 

"Of course," Iolaus laughed. "It took you long enough to notice." His upper arms trapped in the hug, the best he could do to return it was to affectionately squeeze the demigod's forearms as they encircled his chest. When Hercules finally set him down again, he shook his head in amusement. "You know," he mused, "if he ever finds out that we were behind this he'll hunt us down and kill us."

 

Hercules smirked and chuckled wickedly. "You mean Perseus? I'd like to see him try. Besides, after a few glasses of that enchanted wine he'll be as happy about the match as the rest of us." He trotted down the last couple of steps to Zeus Way. Under normal circumstances he would have contemplated dragging Iolaus down to the lagoon to confirm that Poseidon and Zeus had dropped the barriers as promised but it was the middle of the night and he was in far too good of a mood. "What still amazes me," he added, "is how you came up with him so quickly. I can't imagine a more deserving substitute."

 

"That was easy," Iolaus shrugged. "I'd noticed the resemblance before: Ganymede is the spitting image of Perseus... at least after you've given him a couple of good whacks with the flamboyancy stick. But your mention of the invisible shield is what made it click."

 

The demigod, however, was too preoccupied by the delightful notion of Perseus being hit with a stick to accept his share of the credit. For a brief moment he wondered whether Iolaus had been using 'flamboyancy stick' as a euphemism but decided not to ruin the moment by getting bogged down in semantics. He was just about to sweep Iolaus into another joyful hug when a friendly greeting floated their way. A few dozen paces down the road Oraios and Ziliaris were approaching them at a fast clip, followed by Salmoneus and a woman Hercules did not recognize. He waved to them with a broad smile.

 

"You did it!" Oraios exclaimed brightly as he approached. "I don't know how but you did it! We were all pretty worried when the tidal wave hit but I told everyone that if anyone could get us out of this it would be you two. Did everything work out? What about my sister?"

 

Hercules smiled. "Everything's fine," he assured. "You'll be glad to know that Melite is again free to marry Laesus." Oraios beamed with grateful relief. The young man's smile lifted Hercules' spirits improbably higher although he wasn't sure whether it was the lingering effects of the wine or the simple satisfaction of a good deed that was providing the emotional boost.

 

"So what happened?" Salmoneus asked as he and his companion finally caught up. "Was there a drag-down Battle Royale? Should I have been there taking cover-charges at the door?"

 

"Well," said Hercules, leaning an arm casually on Iolaus' shoulder, "it's kind of a long story."

 

"Yeah," Iolaus confirmed, "but the end result is that the barriers are down, Zeus and Ganymede are an item again, and Poseidon has taken what's left of his enchanted wine and gone off to court his new beau."

 

"The wine was enchanted?" Salmoneus asked, looking down at his newly-emptied flagon with concern. "What for?"

 

"It was saturated with Poseidon's passion for Ganymede," Iolaus said gravely. "That's all you need to know."

 

Salmoneus winced and threw down the empty flagon in distaste.

 

"The wine," Oraios exclaimed, smacking his forehead. "Of course. It's imported through a labyrinth of caverns beneath the mountains. That must have been the one entrance not covered by Zeus' barrier. Otherwise the seawater would never have made it through and this town would have run dry weeks ago. It also explains how Zeus was able to sneak in and out of the city without Poseidon's knowledge. Why didn't *I* think of that?"

 

"I did," Ziliaris noted dryly. "But would you listen? Noooo..." He maintained his somber expression for barely a few instants before breaking out into a wide grin.

 

Oraios laughed and shoved Ziliaris playfully. "You did not." The taller boy's eyes flashed with impish challenge as he prepared to tackle Oraios to the ground.

 

"Now boys," warned Salmoneus good-naturedly, "save some of that enthusiasm for your adoring public if you don't mind." He cleared his throat and delicately guided his companion forward. She was pale and slender with an almost bird-like quality that was enhanced by the ornate feathered detailing of her dress and cloak. While she was clearly on the far-side of middle aged she was aging with remarkable grace and was still unquestionably beautiful by any standard. Her regal air and reserved smile suggested her to be even wealthier than she was well-bred. Salmoneus patted her hand proudly. "Hercules, Iolaus," he declared in a formal tone, "may I present Countess Ilithia of Athens. My new patroness."

 

Hercules forced a polite smile, while Iolaus offered the woman one of his characteristically disarming grins, but they exchanged a look, unnoticed by the others, confirming their instant dislike for her.

 

"A pleasure," she said, not particularly convincingly. Turning to Salmoneus, she whispered, "are these they?" to which Salmoneus nodded gravely. She shook her head with a tragic air.

 

"Ahem." Salmoneus cleared his throat and scratched the back of his head awkwardly. "Hercules... Iolaus... I'm afraid I have some rather disappointing news."

 

Iolaus closed his eyes wearily. "Oh no. What now?"

 

Salmoneus looked off to the side. "I know how much you two have been looking forward to your leading roles in 'Legendary!'" He paused but started in again immediately when he noticed that Hercules was about to make a comment. "I'm afraid you've had to be recast," he muttered hurriedly. "I've given Ziliaris and Oraios your parts."

 

"What?!" The laughter in Hercules' response made him sound almost crazed, causing the Countess to widen her eyes fitfully and take a step behind Salmoneus.

 

The salesmen nodded compassionately, his eyes sliding to his fearful companion with a slight smile. "Yes, yes," he told Hercules gently, "I knew you'd be upset but keep in mind, it's only business. The Countess here - and did I mention she is our new benefactress? - seems to think that if we took the show in a younger, more hip direction there's a good deal of profit to be made in the Athenian Red Candle Theater district."

 

"Athens doesn't have a Red Candle Theater district," Iolaus pointed out, gasping in surprise shortly afterwards as Hercules pinched him on the arm.

 

Salmoneus grinned and waggled his eyebrows. "It does now."

 

Hercules could still hardly believe it. "So we're off the hook?"

 

Salmoneus rolled his eyes. "If you're using that expression in the traditional way that would imply that you're fired then the answer is 'yes.' If you're using the expression in the new, hip manner that the young people have taken to using then the answer is 'no, and that's why you're fired.'" He raised his eyebrows and widened his eyes insistently.

 

Iolaus nodded and suppressed his grin. "It's okay, Sal. We understand."

 

"Good," said Salmoneus sternly. The Countess hugged him as if he had just rescued her from an army of hydras. "Now that that's over with," he added, finding it somewhat difficult to speak through the shower of kisses, "we're going to head back downtown and partake in what's left of the late-night revelry. Care to join us?"

 

Hercules glanced over at his partner who inclined his eyes barely perceptibly in the direction of their inn. "I don't think so," he said, trying not to sound too relieved. "It'll be dawn before too long and we could really use the sleep."

 

Salmoneus snorted with laughter. "Sure," he chuckled merrily, "sleep."  
He turned to his companion, who smiled up at him adoringly. "Shall we my dear?" When she took his arm, he looked over at his new leading men. "You boys coming?"

 

"In a moment," Oraios replied. "We want to say goodbye." He turned back and held out his arm to take Hercules' in a warrior grip. "Thanks for everything," he said.

 

Hercules considered the boy skeptically. "Are you sure about this?" he murmured, low enough so that Salmoneus could not overhear. "About going into the theater?"

 

Smiling, Oraios shrugged dismissively. "Sure," he said. "It'll be fun. And it pays a lot more than pulling kids out of wells. Besides, we kind of owe him for the lie we told about finding financial backers for his play."

 

"The lie *you* told," Ziliaris corrected from a few paces away, where he was in the midst of saying farewell to Iolaus. He turned back to the older warrior and gave him a look that quite clearly said, 'Now do you see what I have to put up with?'

 

"Okay, okay," Oraios grumbled, rolling his eyes. "The lie *I* told." He offered the demigod a faint smile before stepping forward to shake with Iolaus, the expression on his face plainly asking, 'Can you believe what I have to live with, here?'

 

At Iolaus' laugh, Oraios smiled brightly. "I'm getting your part in the play," he said. "Got any advice for me?"

 

Iolaus raised his eyebrows and contemplated for a moment. "Do you like walls?" he asked.

 

Oraios' lips spread into a broad grin. "Love 'em."

 

"Then you'll do just fine."

 

Hercules chuckled at this exchange and smiled warmly as Ziliaris approached him.

 

"It's been fun," Ziliaris said. He stepped forward and, rather than shaking hands, pulled the surprised demigod into a tight embrace. "Don't worry about the Countess," he whispered when his lips were close against Hercules' ear. "We know she's a con artist. We just don't know if she's pegged Sal as her next mark or the man of her dreams." He pulled out of the hug with a smile and quietly added, "But if she robs him blind we'll make sure she leaves him at least a barrel and some parchment shoes."

 

With a few final smiles and waves, the two young men went to rejoin Salmoneus and the Countess as they sallied back to the festivities of Zeus Way. Hercules and Iolaus didn't speak, but exchanged a contented smile as they set out on their trek back to the Gryphon's Head. They walked for quite some time in silence, simply enjoying the caress of the summer breeze and the scent of sea air, much stronger on the wind than it had previously been - yet another sign that Zeus' barrier had been lifted.

 

As they strolled down one of the long side-streets, Iolaus plucked a couple of olives from a nearby tree and chewed on them thoughtfully. Hercules watched the process with interest, taking in the shape of Iolaus' lips as they wrapped around the olives, the familiar pattern of the bite marks as he cleaned the fruit from the pit, and, most particularly, the soft, alluring sucking sound that accompanied the endeavor. His mouth suddenly dry, Hercules stopped Iolaus with a gentle hand to his shoulder.

 

"So," he said, "do you think Poseidon's spell has started to wear off yet?"

 

Iolaus considered for a moment, trying to gauge his sensations. "I can't tell," he finally said with a shrug. "Poseidon said it might take a while. What about you?"

 

"Not sure," Hercules replied, shaking his head. His eyes darted to the plump olive in Iolaus' fingers.

 

"Ah," said Iolaus, raising his eyebrows. He lifted the olive to admire it in the moonlight. "Perhaps we should... test it out?" He stepped in close to his partner and with a flirtatious wink placed the olive between his teeth, leaving half of it exposed to the night air.

 

With a sultry smile, Hercules leaned in and wrapped his lips around the offered olive. He felt Iolaus' hand tangle in his hair and pull him closer, his other arm pressing firmly into the muscles of his back to tighten the embrace. The demigod sighed contentedly as he sunk his teeth into the olive, his tongue darting out to taste the sweet juice on Iolaus' lips.

 

And then came the giggle.

 

Both men's teeth still locked on the olive, they looked up in surprise to see the old man, Senilius, and his wife leaning side by side out the window of their tiny house. The old woman smiled brightly, giggling and jostling her husband with her elbow.

 

Momentarily locked into their awkward position, Hercules and Iolaus looked uncertainly at each other and then back at the couple. A few drops of olive juice dribbled down the demigod's chin.

 

Finally and emphatically, the old man took a deep breath and shouted, "Get a room!"

 

Fin.


End file.
